For The Greater Good
by MasterSpy
Summary: "I can get you Harry Potter," she whispered. "And the traitor Snape. In fact, I promise to hand them to you on a silver platter." She watched his ashen, pale face twist into a cruel, serpentine smile. With a flick of the Dark Lord's wand, her entire body ruptured with the agony of a thousand knives. That is how Hermione Granger celebrated her 18th Birthday. AU postOotP Spy!Hermione
1. Prologue: And So, It Begins

**Prologue: And So, It Begins**

Rain crashed down in front of her.

It only seemed fitting that the clouds wept with her today, for they celebrated the ultimate loss of her innocence. No longer a child shielded from the pain of the world, today marked her transition from a child to an adult.

If only it were under better circumstances.

The accelerating droplets smashed onto the ground—a scattered ruin of a degraded path—and muddied the soil slushing around her knees. Her eyes, previously fixated at the cracked grey floor before her, lifted to meet the merciless rubies of her master.

"Today, my Lord," she whispered, "if you would allow me the honour of accepting my servitude, I wish to pledge my complete allegiance to you."

Brown eyes glistening with anticipation of what was to come, she met his gaze as he looked at her submissive, kneeling form before him.

"And, why, my dear Mudblood," he hissed, enjoying the sight before him, "should I welcome your unworthy blood into my circle of followers?"

She hesitated before answering, choosing her words with careful precision. "I believe I have proven my loyalty to your cause in the past few months, my Lord. I would like to serve you further. I wish to provide all my abilities for your disposal. I wish to help you in your battle."

There was no time for hesitation, for doubt or uncertainty. Emotions held no meaning to her as she awaited his response, knowing that any sign of humanity or trepidation would only anger her master. Anxiously, she waited for either her death or his reply. Fortunately, she was graced with the latter.

"Why has my little Mudblood overstepped her bounds tonight to make such a bold request?" he asked, his high-pitched voice cold.

It was a good question. One many would ask. Fortunately, she had the perfect answer.

"Because, my Lord, I can do what all have failed to achieve," she declared, whilst keeping her voice soft and subdued. "I can get you Harry Potter," she whispered. "And the traitor Snape. In fact, I promise to hand them to you on a silver platter."

She watched his ashen, pale face twist into a cruel, serpentine smile. With a flick of his wand, she felt her entire body rupture with the agony of a thousand knives. Refusing to scream, her teeth drew blood from her lips as her nails carved red trails into her clenched fists. She squeezed her eyes shut, hoping to shield away from the angry red haze of the curse. Slowly, as if taunting her, the pain retreated, the fires receding to the inside of her left wrist.

On her previously unmarked skin, lay a living snake, black as night, coiled around her entire left forearm with a skull for its tail. Leaving a trail of her blood in its wake, it slithered down her arm to the inside of her wrist, claiming its territory. With a final hiss, it plunged its fangs into her, tearing her skin like ribbons, and replacing it with its venom.

Within moments, the reptile had vanished, as if becoming one with her skin. In its place, the feared mark of evil glowed the deep scarlet of her blood, confirming her true allegiance. On her left forearm, now lay the infamous Dark Mark.

"Do not make me regret my generosity, Mudblood," her master ordered. "Or I will make sure you beg for an end to your miserable existence."

Lifting one knee off the soaked ground, she bent her head forward in respect. Her brown hair, drenched by the downpour, fell forward limply, sticking to her neck and face in waves.

"Thank you, my Lord, for this great honour. I shall make you proud."

With a nod, the Dark Lord Apparated away from the frozen cemetery, leaving his newest Death Eater alone in the cold mist. He disappeared with a crack, lost in the lines of water that obscured his follower's vision. The uneven ground before her filled with puddles, the water stained red with her blood.

And that is how, on the 19th of September, 1997, Hermione Granger celebrated her official 18th Birthday.

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**AN: Hope you liked that. Please review and let me know what you think. :) ~Kay (MasterSpy)**

******IMPORTANT NOTE: So, I've decided that if I'm fortunate enough to reach the 100 reviews milestone, I will write a one-shot for one of my reviewers, in which they get the choice as to what they would like me to write. UPDATE: I've published this now! It's called Beautiful, and it's a Luna-centric oneshot, revolving around her conversation with Harry about Thestrals during Ootp. If you're interested, please do check this out, as I'd love to hear from you! :)**

**********AN: ****Thank you to Verran, Audemed, Green Phantom Queen, SunnyStorms, thats-a-moray, Lady Paprika, DjinniFires, ReadingBlueWolf, CheddarTrek, Spellshadow98, HappeningStorm, StormyMonday, MadamGiry25, BlondieLocks, persevera, darkin520, XStrawberryDuckFeathersX (which has to be the best name I've seen), ribby97, warriorfist, GamesMaster64, starlight. moon. princess, AnneNevilleReviews, Edhla, ballofstring66, Adden, Fire The Canon, Susan M. M, Shaded Rogue, LilyEvans98 worrywart, Bloodredfirefly and Proud Blood-Traitor for their reviews! :) Thank you to everyone who favourited and followed this story!**


	2. I: The Surprise

**I: The Surprise**

The deed was done. She had succeeded. No longer just a Potions Mistress and researcher that they used as a replacement for a traitor, she had finally been accepted as one of the Dark Lord's Death Eaters.

She had succeeded: that was why she was lying on the floor bleeding.

Dark Magic was notoriously hard to heal—she had learnt that from her fall in the Department of Mysteries. She had also been reminded of that several times in the past three months.

It turns out the rumours were true: taking the Dark Mark was an incredibly painful process.

After the Dark Lord had left her in the cemetery, she had Apparated back to the middle of the Forbidden Forest. Although the forest had a reputation for being infamously dangerous, she found that it had become much like a second home to her. Sometimes, she felt safer in her clearing than in the confines of her room at Hogwarts.

After all, once you strike a deal with the unicorns and centaurs, there is not much that can injure you in the forest. Being two of the most intelligent and fierce magical beings, their protection pretty much granted you a free pass into the forest.

Her experiences had helped immensely when forming a relationship with the creatures, allowing her to display some form of empathy with them. The fact that she was aspiring to help bring down the Dark Lord that both kinds hated also worked out in her favour. The centaurs had been harder to convince (they didn't really like her after the Umbridge incident), but they respected fierce warriors. Besides, they had sensed her animalistic nature. Now that she was allowed on their territory, she had nothing to fear whilst she recovered from her injuries.

And so the process started again.

Walk to your torture. Be tortured. Heal from said torture in the forest. Make the torturous walk from the forest to the castle. Pretend everything is fine and previous torture never occurred.

Only today it had been so much worse.

She was becoming a cynic.

With all the energy she possessed, she heaved herself off the floor into a sitting position. She knew the scent of her blood would have informed her allies that she was back. Looking at her forearm, she assessed the damage that had been dealt.

Her left arm was a mangled mess of blood and flesh, the only distinct feature being the infamous Dark Mark. After casting a wandless _Accio_, her wand travelled from its hiding place in a hollow tree with only a moment's delay. It was not like the Dark Lord would have trusted her with a wand around him. No, every time she was summoned, she went wandless. It was the only way to prove her loyalty.

She had never been more grateful that her grasp of wandless magic was extraordinary.

There were not many tissue healing spells she could use—the Dark magic inside the wound ensured that. With practised perfection, she magically bandaged her arms, hoping to reduce the bleeding. Another _Accio _brought her the necessary potions required. She drank the Sealing and Blood Replenishing Potions without even a mental complaint of their vile taste. Her very own creation, a Stimulating Potion, provided her with a well-needed bout of artificial energy. She would have to wait till she returned to her chambers to apply the salve that would help expedite the natural process of healing.

She waved her wand again, mending the bone the snake had broken. Casting an effective glamour, her arm now looked perfectly healthy to everyone else. Next, she Disillusioned herself perfectly, becoming entirely invisible. Satisfied that it would be enough to make the journey back, she stood hesitantly, testing her aching muscles, ignoring the agonising pain that still burned through her body.

Slowly, she made her trek back to the castle.

To circumvent the areas where her schoolmates tended to congregate when breaking curfew, she circled around the Quidditch pitch. She used the secret passage by the dungeons to gain entry to the castle. (She had a sneaking suspicion it had been created to help a certain Potions Master with his nightly duties.)

It was a good thing that she was smart: sneaking around would have been impossible otherwise.

First, she cast a non-verbal _Silencio _on her shoes. Second, she aimed the same _Silencio _on herself, so that her breathing and rustling would not attract any unwanted attention. She was naturally stealthy: when she moved, she did so silently. However, the pain she was experiencing had made her motions louder than normal. The silence of the corridors only amplified any noises. She would not take a risk.

Last, she cast her creation, _Animadverto Non_, on herself, preventing any spying devices from noticing her. She did not want to answer to Harry when he saw her crawling around the castle after curfew on the Marauder's map. Helpfully, it also allowed her to walk through the several wards in Hogwarts completely undetected.

Confident that no one could find her, she continued to find her way through the castle.

She walked past the staircase that led to her and Draco's chambers. She could not return to her bed quite yet. Draco would have to be the sole Head student for a little longer.

There was something of severe importance to be done first.

* * *

Headmaster Dumbledore was a compassionate, patient man. Whilst he wasn't usually disturbed at night, he was only more than happy to help when a student approached him after hours.

Albus Dumbledore was also an unbelievably powerful wizard—some argued the most powerful since Merlin. He had been through two wars and was preparing for the third. Some would say he had seen it all.

However, nothing could have prepared him for what happened that night.

He had been in his chambers sleeping when his wards had erupted, all alarms blaring. Someone had broken into his office. Instantly awake, he had automatically Apparated directly into his office, his wand magically appearing in his hand.

He didn't know what he expected entirely—it was a very unusual occurrence. Maybe he had been hoping it was merely a Death Eater searching through his drawers; maybe he feared it was Voldemort himself, ready for a final duel.

He definitely had not expected to find Hermione Granger calmly sitting in an armchair facing his desk, turned slightly towards the warmth of a roaring fire he had not lit.

Shocked would be an understatement.

"Good evening, Professor," Miss Granger greeted calmly, as if the circumstances were no different than a common Head Girl meeting. "I apologise for waking you up so rudely. I needed to discuss something of the utmost importance."

Gesturing to his own chair behind his desk, she asked cordially, "Would you care to take a seat?"

The irony of a student inviting him to his own seat in his own office would not have been lost to him if the situation hadn't been so surreal. Here he was, in his purple night robes, being ordered by his student, who was draped in tousled black robes that seemed to have a bit of grass and dirt sticking to them.

Silently, he took his chair, resting his elbows on his desk as he leaned forward towards his star student. Staring at her intensely with bright blue eyes, he tried to gain a greater understanding from her of what was happening.

He was refused entry.

She had blocked his Legilimency.

Her mind had been masterfully guarded, in only a way an experienced Occlumens could accomplish. He couldn't have been more confused. Even if she hadn't smiled knowingly, acknowledging that she had felt him pry.

For the first time in a very long time, Albus Dumbledore was completely clueless.

"Miss Granger," he started, finding it hard to find the right words, "might I ask what has brought you here tonight in such a dramatic manner?"

"I'm sorry for the inconvenience, Professor," she continued in the same sweet, calm tone she had used before. "But I had to take the necessary precautions to make sure I wasn't noticed or my appearance documented. For that, I had to slip past your wards. I'm sorry for the abrupt alarms I must've caused once I let down my spells."

He didn't know which part of that sentence he wanted to question the most. Instead, he chose to simply file it away for later, dealing with the more important matters first.

"What was it that you wanted to discuss, Miss Granger?" he asked kindly, with no anger in his voice. She was glad that he didn't seem too annoyed at her boldness.

"Before I can tell you anything, Headmaster, I must insist that this conversation be kept strictly between the two of us," she stated, her brown eyes almost challenging him to say otherwise.

"I can assure you, my dear, that I will keep your confidence if you so ask."

She looked at the sleeping portraits pointedly, revealing the true meaning of her request. Nodding at her, he cast a _Muffliato _to prevent their conversation from being heard. After expressing her gratitude, she stood from her chair, walking to the front of his desk.

"If you wouldn't mind, Headmaster, it would be much easier to show you what I wanted to discuss."

"Miss Granger, right now, anything that might ease my confusion would be appreciated," he replied, his curiosity and concern increasing with every passing second.

Without a word, Hermione rolled up the sleeves of her left arm, revealing her pale skin. With a wave of her hand, she dropped the glamour, instantaneously revealing the blood-soaked bandages. A second later, they too disappeared, bearing the Dark Mark in all its morbid glory.

The previously warm atmosphere turned cold. The Headmaster's sharp inhalation was the only sound that passed for a few moments.

Deliberately, he stood from his chair, walking around the desk to come to a stand in front of her. Gently, he cradled her scarlet arm, staring at the black that claimed it.

"My child, what have you done?" he asked in a haunted whisper.

"I did what had to be done, Headmaster. For the greater good," she replied confidently, seemingly unfazed by his clear anguish.

He dropped her hand carefully, re-bandaging it with a wave of his wand.

"Hermione," he said after she had returned her arm to her side, "it seems you have a lot to tell me."

"That I do, Professor, that I do," she sighed, sitting back down in her seat casually.

"By the fact that you have yet to raise a wand towards me, am I right to assume that you are still on the side of the Light?" he asked, uncertain what he would do if he was wrong.

"Of course, Headmaster! I'd never betray Harry!" she replied passionately, something finally breaking through her smooth mask.

"Then why have you taken the Dark Mark?"

"I thought it'd be obvious, Headmaster. I wish to replace Professor Snape as a spy."

Stunned, he rested his body against his desk, leaning against it for support. "Why?"

"Ever since the end of last year, when Professor Snape's true allegiance was revealed, we've had a gaping hole in our war effort. I know you've been aware of it, Headmaster," she answered, her voice no longer that of an innocent student. He noticed her deeper timbre, an authority and confidence shining through her mere presence.

Once again, he was baffled by the enigma in front of him.

"Since the night on the Astronomy tower, when Professor Snape refused to kill you or allow Bellatrix to do it instead, we've had little to no information on how to defeat the Dark Lord. Although Professor Snape helpfully captured five Death Eaters that night, we've lost the upper hand in this war with no outside information," she continued. "I sought to correct that."

"Hermione, if you had such concerns, why did you not come see me? Why not inform the Order? We could've done something! Why carry this burden?" he questioned vehemently, deeply upset that one of his students—indeed, his best student—had felt the need to take matters into her own hands.

"Please don't take my actions as an insult to your competence, Headmaster. Since the Department of Mysteries, I was aware that we—by that I mean the younger generation—were nowhere near prepared enough for this war. Within the war generation, I was the only one preparing, training for the inevitable."

Leaning forward, she continued, begging for him to understand. "Cedric's death and the Dark Lord's resurrection was proof that something needed to be done. I only sought to reduce the bloodshed in this war. How many will die, Professor, in the Final Battle against the Dark Lord? How many innocent lives, both adult and children, will be lost?"

An eerie fire of determination shone in her eyes as she explained her actions with a new confidence.

"Too many, Headmaster. Too many. If we went into this blind—if we allowed the Dark Lord to dictate the terms of the battle—I'm not sure there would be a Wizarding Britain left to rebuild."

Leaning back, she spoke next with a frightening flippancy, as if discussing something as trivial as the weather. "I must admit, when I trained, I'd expected to be a warrior. Just another soldier on the battlefield. But with Professor Snape's former position vacant, it seemed I'd be far more useful as a spy." She stopped there, taking a deep breath, as if collecting herself. Her left forearm twitched, ever so slightly, providing physical evidence of the agonising pain she was suppressing expertly.

"Regardless, Headmaster, we can catch up on the events leading up to this moment later. I merely wished to inform you of my position and wanted to offer my services to you. Merlin knows that the Light could use it."

Stunned, he nodded absently. He was calculating.

Whilst what he had witnessed today had proven that Hermione Granger was an exceeding powerful witch, he refused to leave her helpless. He stared at her, trying to determine the best course of action. Staring back, she couldn't help but notice that his bright blue eyes had lost their characteristic twinkle.

"What if I say I don't want you to go back?" he inquired.

"I'd say, Headmaster, that it's an unfortunate truth of life and war that we don't always get what we want."

"And if I forbade it?"

"After all I've done, Professor, nothing will stop me."

"If I bound you to the castle, Miss Granger?" he tried again, determined to exhaust all possibilities before he conceded.

"I'd find a way out. I've already been sneaking out since last year. I don't doubt I could continue," she replied with an assured authority.

Before he could question her further, she raised her hand, silently expressing her wish to answer first.

"Headmaster, I've been the Dark Lord's follower for over three months now and the Order had no clue. I've been training vigorously for over two years and no one noticed any difference. If I want to continue as a Death Eater, and I do, I don't see how you could stop me without wasting far too many resources unnecessarily that should be out there fighting, rather than baby-sitting a student." A fire raged in her eyes once again, a steely reminder to Albus that the young woman before him was far more than what she appeared to be, and he remembered her to be.

"I will continue as a Death Eater. I have no doubt he'll call again once the Dark Mark has healed and settled, and I'll answer when he does. The only question, Headmaster, is whether you'd like to make use of my position and the information I can provide you, or whether I need to find someone else in the Order who will."

Sighing, he leaned back into his chair, defeated. Sending a silent prayer to the Gods above to protect his student for what was to come, he surrendered.

"Very well, my dear. You shall liaise with me. However, I have one condition," he ordered, hoping to salvage at least some part of this situation.

"What is it, Headmaster?"

"You must work with Professor Snape. I wish for him to help and train you. If you insist on sending yourself to death's lair, I insist for you to have the best teaching for your task. Who better than the former spy himself?"

She bristled.

Hermione did not like it. She did not wish to be coddled, judged or patronised. She only wished to continue doing her job, which could not be done without Dumbledore.

Reluctantly, she agreed.

"If I must, Headmaster, I will. However, I don't wish to inform him of the situation."

"I shall explain everything to him myself."

"I also ask that no one else in the Order know of my position, Headmaster." Whilst it might have seemed like a request, the weight in her words made it far more commanding.

To that, he nodded, his long white beard bristling with his movements. Satisfied, she stared out the window, admiring the red streaks that were lighting the clouds, marking the start of dawn. The sun had just begun to rise, she noticed, as a few slivers of light escaped the confines of the Forbidden Forest, behind which the sun was hiding. The clouds, bathed in yellow and red, danced in the sky, iridescent, reflecting sunlight from their edges.

The scene was beautiful. Too beautiful, for Hermione, who had found solace in the cover of darkness within which she could hide.

"If you don't mind, Headmaster, I'd like to return to my chambers. I'm exhausted and would appreciate the opportunity to rest."

She watched his blue eyes widen as he realised that the she had not rested since the induction. The crows' feet surrounding his old eyes deepened dramatically as sorrow and shock invaded his features. Nodding at once, he stood from his chair to see her out.

"Why did you not say anything sooner, Hermione? Of course, you may. Rest up, I'll make sure no one shall disturb you tomorrow."

"Thank you, Headmaster. Good night."

Turning around, she headed out of the office, swiftly casting all the precautionary spells on her way. His voice stopped her before she could leave.

"After everything we've discussed tonight, my dear, I think it would be appropriate for you to refer to me as Albus."

Looking back, she smiled softly, her wise eyes warm. Looking at the weight they carried—no doubt burdened by what she had seen and done—he berated himself for not noticing her transformation sooner. The young woman in front of him had not been a child for a very long time.

"Thank you, Albus."

With that, she walked out, heading straight to her chambers.

Merlin, she couldn't wait for a warm bath and a long sleep.

She could only hope Draco was asleep and she didn't have to deal with him too.

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**AN/: Hope you enjoyed it :)  
In case anyone was wondering, Animadverto Non is Google Translate's latin for notice not. I know, it does not sound nearly as impressive in English.**

**NOTE: I've been asked about Dumbledore's hand, because it is quite confusing in this chapter. It is not cursed - it was cured. The details of which will be revealed slowly as the story progresses.**

**~Kay**

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******AN: Thank you to Cossettely, SunnyStorms, JanieNine, Green Phantom Queen, Audemed, Edhla, ReadingBlueWolf, persevera, MadameGiry25, CheddarTrek, starlight. moon. princess, XStrawberryDuckFeathersX, ribby97, GamesMaster64, AnneNevilleReviews, Fire The Canon, Adden, Susan M. M, Bloodredfirefly and worrywart for their reviews. :) ****Thank you to everyone who followed this story and to those who added it to their favourites!**


	3. II: The Warrior

**II: The Warrior**

Thinking back, she hadn't meant to approach Draco the first time she saw him vulnerable—she knew it was dangerous. But the events at the Ministry had shaken her too.

She had been shocked at how unorganised the side of the light had been. Granted, everyone would have considered the defeat of the Inner Circle by school-going children as a huge success, but not her. She wasn't affected by the glamour her peers' age seemed to bestow upon everyone else. They were the next generation of warriors. This was their war; in this, they would fight or die. The fate of the world rested on their shoulders.

Harry had been praised as the Chosen One once again. With the return of Voldemort out in the open for everyone to see, the public had turned their eyes to place their faith and hope on the product of a prophecy. But they had not been there that night. They had not seen the chaotic manner with which he led, emotions clouding his judgement, unintentional arrogance making him reckless. Whether he knew it or not, he had believed himself invincible from the rest of the world bar Voldemort. After all, he was the Chosen One; a final confrontation with Voldemort was his destiny. Until then, he was safe.

He was young. She wouldn't say he was a child like the others who fought that day. However, he had not been ready. Not in the slightest. None of them were. She had the scar to prove it.

Whilst battling the ruthless Death Eaters, she had noticed the precision with which they threw every spell, their experience giving them the clear upper hand. The children's hesitant and clumsy responses were nothing compared to them. It had been sheer luck that they had all come back alive that day. She knew it, but others seem to forget it.

No one came back unscathed that day. Everyone had cuts, bruises and injuries from Dark curses that needed to be healed. She had been the worst—only Madam Pomfrey knew how close to death she had come. She had taken down half of the Death Eaters though. And that was without even revealing her true capabilities.

If there was one thing everyone knew about Hermione Granger, it was that she was no fool. Often titled as the 'Brightest Witch of her Age,' her intelligence was well-known, even amongst the dark side. She had been clever enough to understand that this was going to be a war fought by children who had been forced to grow up too early—she was one of them. She had the common sense to realise that it would not come naturally. No. Warriors were not born, they were trained.

And so she had trained. Her over-achieving nature had helped but it was not enough. Ever since Voldemort's resurrection, she had started preparing for the inevitable bloodshed and war. Whilst she had known countless spells, charms and curses far more advanced than the average seventh year, she knew that would not be enough.

She had trained her magic, learning far more spells than even the average Death Eater. She had trained her mind, meditating daily in hopes of someday attempting to guard her secrets. She had trained her body, dealing with the stress and demands of duelling.

And she had done so in secret. Not that she wanted to. She had tried to persuade Harry and Ron to do the same. After all, Harry was the instrumental cog in their war effort. Without him, all hope would be lost.

But Cedric's death had shaken him. His pure heart had him swimming in guilt that could not be overcome. Her protests to prepare further had fallen to unheard ears. Ron had been convinced that pretending that everything was fine was the way forward to prevent Harry from drowning in his sorrow.

So it had started. Her boys acted like boys, when she had turned into a woman, the reality of war sobering her. Already almost two years their elder from her use of the Time Turner in their third year to double up on lessons and homework, she had hidden her determined planning behind her know-it-all character. She played with them, as if nothing had changed, allowing them to act as kids for a few months. She had made sure they learnt their spells—some more advanced ones as well—and subtly did her best to prepare them for a war they were hiding from.

She had spent all of that summer, between her fourth and fifth year, learning more about anything that could give them the advantage in this war. Aware of her officially underage status, she had researched everything that did not require an outward release of magic to circumvent the Ministry's detection spells. She had organised her mind, training with the discipline required to control her thoughts. Occlumency was not a skill easily learnt or mastered, but she had been determined not to let any spies for the dark side steal her secrets from her mind. She would never betray Harry, not even unintentionally.

She hadn't known entirely what she was doing: she had no one to teach her. Knowledge from books could only take one so far when learning such a practical skill. Having meditated since her first year to help with the stress of exams, calming her mind had come naturally. Organising and defending had been another story entirely. However, she had been determined, and after four long months of mental exercises, she had managed to erect her first, albeit week, mental wall.

She could already cast the majority of shielding and defensive spells till the seventh year curriculum in her third year. Her offensive spells were only a little poorer—that had become the first task on her to-do list for her fifth year.

Overachieving as she was, a month into her summer vacation, she had set her aims higher than even she would have dreamed of in her younger years. She started preparing for her Animagus transformation. Her mental preparation with her Occlumency and her almost six years of meditation had helped. However, Hermione had always been a controlled individual. She was thoroughly organised in her work-ethic, she planned diligently, and she felt more comfortable when keeping with rules. Whilst spending four years being Harry Potter's best friend had improved her improvisation skills dramatically, she was not a raw, instinctual individual like Harry. She was definitely not animalistic.

Her first task had been to go through the necessary mental exercises—her experience had been enough to shorten the year long process to a meagre two weeks. The next task was the hardest. Whilst she could calm and organise her mind, she could never let go completely. She could relax, but she could not become one with nature, letting her magic interact with the energy of her surroundings. She could not let her instincts rule her.

The rest of the summer holidays had been concentrated on making progress on her transformation. It wasn't until her last week that she could even feel her magical core. She had a long way to go.

Her progress in Occlumency had been better. Her one mental wall had been reinforced, becoming strong enough to withstand a weak surface Legilimency attack.

Hermione Granger was smart. She was bright and diligent. However, she was not a miracle worker. Although she had far over-stepped her abilities to that of a well-trained, highly experienced and powerful adult, she could not master such demanding and time-consuming skills in a summer. Even if she had been laying the ground-work since her first year.

With the start of her fifth year, came the tyranny of one Dolores Umbridge. The sub-standard DADA teaching had provided the perfect excuse to train Ron and Harry. Dumbledore's Army was created, allowing her to push her friends to their limits. Even if they didn't achieve a level of offensive excellence, she had made sure that they could at least defend themselves well.

It had been a great idea: she had managed to motivate the rest of her trio quite well. Harry had sunken into his role as a leader splendidly. She had noticed that he was maturing, having finally dealt with the guilt left over from Cedric's death. He had used his feelings as a driving force.

His experience with death had changed him. He carried a new weight around his shoulders—the weight of a soul lost in the crossfire. DA was his first step to accepting his destiny; being the Chosen One meant being the leader of the war effort. He was the catalyst, the beacon of hope that was the driving force for the light.

As Harry taught and the DA learnt, Hermione had stood in the side-lines, participating as required to keep from suspicion. Not many had questioned the ease with which she cast spells; she was the over-achieving brainiac after all. She had still made sure to hold back the true extent of her talent. It would not have helped anyone to undermine Harry's authority or abilities, especially when he was progressing so well.

She had not let her academic studies interfere with her extra-curricular training though. Every night, she would sneak out, cast a Disillusionment Charm perfectly, and run laps around the castle, silencing her feet and lungs to hide the evidence of her activities. When cooling down, she would try to locate her magical core and interact with the nature around her. Every morning, she would quickly run through all the Occlumency exercises mentally.

After all, she was the brightest witch of her age. It simply wouldn't do to let her generation down.

Throughout the year, she had observed, with great satisfaction, her Occlumency skills improve. Her one mental shield had doubled into two reinforced barriers of steel, guarding her thoughts with sufficient competency. She was nowhere close to mastering the science—Master Occlumens raised dozens of barriers, each of different kinds, and sustained them subconsciously. However, she was improving, at a much faster rate than ever heard of before. And for now, that was enough for her.

To her surprise, she had also made progress in her quest to become an Animagus. She had noticed how she was always aware of her magical core. She had learnt how to immerse herself into the magic of nature, even if she couldn't interact with it as effectively as she had hoped. Her instincts were becoming stronger—her schoolwork showed that. Her intellectual brilliance, that once lacked the spark of a trailblazer, was complemented with educated speculation that gave rise to great researchers. Her teachers and friends had noticed and thought nothing of it. Just another thing for her to be great at.

When Harry had started learning Occlumency, she had tried to help. She had given him copies of all her notes and research. She had even surreptitiously slipped in a few tips that she had learnt from her own experience. He was simply too occupied with Professor Snape's torturous teaching to think anything of it.

But he did not have the discipline. Whilst Animagi gained from their instincts, Occlumency was all about control and organisation. You could not have asked for a more ill-suited task for the Boy Who Lived. She had been disappointed when he gave up; she realised the importance of having at least some control over the anomalous connection he shared with Voldemort.

Her instincts had been right, as they increasingly were. His had been wrong.

And that was how they had landed in the Department of Mysteries that night.

The Boy Who Lived had one famous weakness and strength: his love. It motivated him and gave him the strength that he required. Once manipulated, however, it also forced him to act in a rash and obtuse manner. Once Harry was convinced that Sirius could be in danger, nothing could have stopped him from rushing to save the day. And nothing could have stopped his friends from following blindly.

They had been so close to losing someone that day—excluding her, of course (she had practically begged Madam Pomfrey not to reveal the severity of her injuries for the benefit of Harry's mental health).

Harry's stupid saviour complex had prevented him from thinking logically. His hare-brained thinking had almost cost him his godfather's life. When Sirius found out that Harry had rushed into battle, nothing could have kept him from emulating his godson's reckless actions and rushing in right behind him. At least he had come with reinforcements in the form of the Order. Thank Merlin that Professor Snape had informed them, or she was sure the Hogwarts' students would have suffered a thoroughly unpleasant fate.

She remembered that moment very clearly. It was what had almost cost her her life.

Everyone had watched as Bellatrix had taunted her cousin, all the while pushing him back, taking the clear offensive in their duel. Whether it was intentional and the notoriously crazy Death Eater had meant for him to inch closer to the Veil, she didn't know. However, she had watched with horror as she saw him unknowingly retreating towards the Veil of Death. Her curse had been fired right before Bellatrix could do the deed; the silent _Protego_ created an invisible barrier behind him. Rebounding off her defensive wall, he had been able to easily counter his attacker, who fled with the arrival of her master.

Casting her _Protego_ to protect Sirius instead of her had given Dolohov the opportunity to surprise her. The Dark slicing spell hit her right on the chest, slashing a clean cut down the middle of her torso, rivers of her blood flowing out of the wound. The Dark magic had made it notoriously hard to heal—she had exhausted a quarter of the Hospital Wing's Blood Replenishing Potions simply bleeding out.

She had spent a week recovering from the blood loss and residual Dark magic. No one but Sirius knew of her actions; she had pleaded with him to keep it a secret. He hated to do so—he didn't understand why—but since she had saved his life, he complied. In return, she tried to free him of his Life Debt. After spending twelve years in Azkaban, he didn't deserve to be imprisoned any longer, she had said. However, his repayment had been too small to be accepted by the binding magic. He had left her, promising to help her through anything she wished, and thanking her profusely for saving his life.

So that's what had brought her to the lake on that night—the night she met her friend. After she had recovered from her injuries, she had been even more determined than ever to throw herself into her preparations. Recent events had provided her with inspiration and she was determined to reduce the bloodshed of the oncoming war. The need to train had never been higher.

It had been at the end of her run that she had seen him. When she had connected her magical core with her surroundings, she had felt the magic bleeding away in sorrowful waves at a distance. Unable to calm her curiosity, she had walked towards the source of the conflict.

Before her had been Draco Malfoy, head leaning on a tree trunk, staring across the distant lake with unseeing eyes. Although his face had remained a regal emotionless mask, his magical energy had been turbulent.

The Prince of Slytherin was changing.

Quietly, she sat down beside him, sensing that he required a friendly presence. Nothing that could cause such a great disturbance in someone's magical core could be taken lightly.

She had expected him to react when she took his hand, at the very least recoil in disgust for being touched by a Mudblood. Wiping his hands on his trousers was pretty much a necessity. However, none of this had occurred. He had simply stared at her with the same unseeing eyes, and turned back to the lake in indifference.

That was when she knew that the prince had needed her.

She had been happy to help.

He was worn; too tired to even care of her worthlessness. With the break of dawn, she simply squeezed his hands again and walked away, knowing that it was exactly what he needed.

If she had acknowledged this arrangement—spoke of it or even expected anything of him in return—it would become all too real. With his eyes closed, he could pretend she was someone else, someone acceptable, that cared about him.

So she had let the charade continue. Every night, after her daily run, she would calmly sit down beside him and take his hand. She would continue her Animagus exercises at his side. For the first time in her almost year of training, she had felt it. The Animal. Back then, she couldn't quite place what it was. All she had known was that her magical core, animalistic in form, was connecting to the magical energy rolling of the Slytherin Prince. It was reacting to his presence. She could feel the animal almost stroking Draco's core, comforting it magically, without him even knowing.

But none of it had mattered at that moment. All that mattered was that she, a witch, was sitting next to him, a wizard, in his time of need.

She had known he would talk when he was ready to. Until then, she had been perfectly content letting her animal run wild in the darkness of the night.

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**AN/: Hope you enjoyed that chapter. I promise, Severus will be coming soon. Please review and let me know what you think. :)  
~Kay**

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******AN: Thank you to ReadingBlueWolf, Edhla, FalconLux, starlight. moon. princess, GamesMaster64, AnneNevilleReviews, peace and joy, gemini-rose16, Bloodredfirefly, PaganWitchGirl and worrywart for their reviews :) ****Thank you to everyone who followed this story and to those who added it to their favourites!**


	4. III: The Prince

**III: The Prince**

Draco Malfoy had been a prince. He was the heir to the wealthiest, and arguably most powerful, bloodline of the wizarding world. His father's name alone had caused some to shiver in fear. He had led the superior house of Slytherin; no one had dared to question him. He was respected by all like-minded Purebloods for his family's favour with the Dark Lord. Merely a year ago, he had believed himself to be above all others.

A year later, he was a pauper.

He was friendless and alone, being led on a leash to follow a path pre-determined for him. A path leading to a life-time of serving a ruthless, power-hungry killer who cared for no one, and disposed of those loyal to him without hesitation. Draco was bred for this, raised for this, conditioned to perfection for this.

And he accepted it. Growing up, his one truth was his superiority to all others. It was his blood-right. He was to succeed his father as the right-hand man to the one individual whose name held more power than his. He was to be a prince. He was taught to mask his emotions before he even held his wand. Propriety was bred into him instead of love or warmth. And he was proud of it.

Draco was his father's son; he was proud of it. Draco belonged to a name so powerful, it was untouchable; he was proud of it. Draco wanted to be his father; and he was proud of it.

Until that fateful day.

It was the day that Potter and his little friends defeated members of the Inner Circle of Death Eaters who were merciless killers chosen for their ruthlessness by the Dark Lord himself. It was the day when innocent 15 year olds fighting for the light defeated those with years of experience in the Dark Arts. It was the day when Potter's godfather almost died; the day when the Dark Lord returned to wizarding Britain; the day his father was defeated.

The day his father was sent to Azkaban.

He remembered seeing his father's picture in the Daily Prophet, capturing the moment when he was herded like a common sheep to the unbreakable prison with the rest of his "friends," condemned by society. He remembered how his family name, always upheld at the pinnacle of wizarding society, plummeted to the ground, unsalvageable after being dragged so deep in the dirt. He remembered the tears of his mother as she regretted her husband's decision to follow the power-crazy madman, signing off his and his family's future to serve rather than lead.

He remembered. He would never forget.

And finally, after years of following blindly, he wondered. For once, he thought for himself.

Every night since that day—every time he lay in bed—he thought. He analysed.

The conclusions he reached shocked him.

Tentatively at first, he questioned his father's choice to follow a man who gave him no respect, who treated him, a Malfoy, as inferior. Why, if their family name was to be held in pride and respected by all, was he below another man—one who commanded others with fear, torture and contempt.

Hesitant, he wondered why his father would want to follow the orders of any other man rather than lead in his rightful position.

Troubled, he questioned why, his father, a Pureblood, would fall to the knees of the Dark Lord, a Half-blood.

Spurred on by the shame of his family's fall from grace, he asked why if Purebloods commanded power in their blood, the Dark Lord held more power than the most Pureblooded family in wizarding Britain; why he was stronger than his father; why he was stronger than him.

He thought. He analysed. And he didn't like the conclusions he came to.

He was confused.

His faith was shaken. His family was not untouchable—as proven by the condemnation from society. His father was not as powerful as he believed—Potter and his friends had defeated him!

He was not a Prince. He was just Draco Malfoy. And Malfoy did not mean the same as it had a week before.

Why was he not more powerful than Potter, the Half-blood, if he was Pureblooded? Why was he not smarter than Granger, the Mudblood? Why did the Weasel, a blood-traitor, have a family with stronger influence in society than his, a revered Pureblood?

It didn't make sense.

He didn't like it.

Every day since his father's arrest, he thought. The more he thought, the more agitated he became with the hypocrisy of his upbringing; the more uncertain he became of his beliefs; the more helpless he felt.

Which is why every day since his father's arrest, after tossing and turning, he got out of bed after everyone had fallen asleep and went for a walk around Hogwarts. The majestic beauty of the castle at night calmed his thoughts, allowing him some respite from his identity-crisis. The tranquillity of the lake became a haven, the stillness of the water corresponding with the much-needed stillness of his mind. The occasional ripples and waves seemed to represent his state perfectly; the externally emotionless, calm and superior mask of Malfoy was being shaken from the inside.

He sat there for hours, finally peaceful.

He, Draco Malfoy, relished in the opportunity to be a nobody, even for just a few hours.

It was during one of these hours on one of these days that she came to him.

He had been curled up in front of a tree, using its trunk to hold him upright as he stared across the lake to the Forbidden Forest. As he usually did after the first half an hour, he was ready to close his eyes to rest in the soothing atmosphere.

He hadn't heard her come up to him; her feet hadn't caused any noise as they treaded across the dew-covered grass. Wordlessly, she had sat next to him. It was only when she had touched his hand with hers that he became aware of her presence.

He had been convinced she was a dream, a phantom of his imagination to ward away the pit of loneliness that had developed since he was cast away by the rest of the Slytherins. As he turned his eyes slowly, he was shocked at the image before him.

Leaning into him, had been the Gryffindor Princess and Mudblood extraordinaire, Hermione Granger herself.

He knew his hand should have recoiled on instinct, burning from the disgusting touch of a Mudblood's tainted flesh. He knew he should have hurled violent insults at her, taken pleasure in watching her flinch at his hurtful words. He knew, at that moment, that he should have hated her.

But he couldn't: he was too tired.

Tired of the hypocrisy, the pain, the false promises that he had been fed.

He wasn't sure—so he didn't act. He simply closed his eyes and continued to rest, soothed by his haven, as a Mudblood held his hand in comfort.

And for those few moments of peace, he hadn't cared in the slightest.

Dawn approached. The first ray of sunshine broke free of the clouds and canopy of the forest, bathing the two enemies in its golden hue. What an unusual sight they were, both battered and bruised, one physically, from a recent date with death, another mentally, having the foundation of his entire life shattered.

The warm blanket of the sun encircled them.

The princess had awoken first. Lifting her head from his shoulder—must have landed there when they slept—she disentangled her arm from around his torso. The disruption caused the prince to stir, breaking his mirage of calm dreams.

As he regained his bearings, he watched silently as the Mudblood calmly stretched her muscles. When she turned her head, she met his grey eyes, holding his gaze. He could only assume that she had found what she was looking for, for after a few seconds, with a nod of her head, she simply stood up and with a final squeeze of his hand, walked away towards the castle.

He had come to a decision: he was confused.

Why was it that, in the dark of night, a Mudblood's touch had been no different to that of any other? Last night, she had been a woman who had comforted him. Her presence hadn't disgusted him. She had been just another witch.

When his own house had shunned him, a Mudblood had come to his rescue. With the loss of his family's status came the loss of his reign over the Slytherins - his fall from grace of epic proportions. Those who had previously cowered in fear looked at him with a sneer. Others refused to look at all, choosing to ignore him instead, trying to fool themselves into believing that he didn't actually exist. When his own had abandoned him, he had let himself be comforted by the mere presence of a Mudblood.

Oh how the mighty had fallen.

What shocked him was that, just like last night, he didn't care. Even when he was wide awake, he was too tired to give a damn about what she was.

She was a witch. She had helped him. She was a Mudblood.

It was strange when the last sentence didn't illicit a response from him.

He was truly indifferent.

Yesterday, he had gone from being furious to confused to completely uncertain.

Today, he felt betrayed.

Betrayed by an extremist ideology that had done him no benefit in the long run. Betrayed by the hunger for power that consumed the rest of his "kind." Betrayed by those he had foolishly believed were his friends.

There were no friends amongst Death Eaters. Similarly, there were no friends amongst their offspring. Crabbe and Goyle had flocked Nott the moment they heard the news. They joined the faces that ignored his existence entirely. Parkinson had found a new man to consume, whoring herself for his power instead.

Only one had acknowledged him: Blaise Zabini. And that was only with a nod of his head as he walked past. Zabini was polite to everyone; it was expected.  
He sat alone at the corner of the table at Great Hall for his meals. He worked alone in his lessons, unless forcibly paired with someone. Even then they never spoke, working with quiet co-ordination.

The fact was, he was alone.

The Slytherin Prince had truly fallen from his throne.

Yet, the only thing that mattered was that, for the first time since that fateful day, he felt… content. No, that was the wrong word—normal. Human.

When he had been alienated by his people and house, the presence of a Mudblood—one he had bullied and alienated for years—had made him feel human again. As if he still mattered. As if he was still Draco Malfoy and not a nameless face that had been long forgotten.

And for that he was grateful. To a Mudblood.

Merlin's Beard, he was confused.

With that, he walked to the castle, returning to the world where he was either a no-one or the scum of the Earth. All the while, he wished to be alone again, looking at the tranquillity of the Lake for guidance.

During the day, in the classes they shared, they acted no different. He still sneered at her and taunted her, insulting her heritage as it was her only flaw. She still bristled and answered back with appropriate malice, remaining true to her feisty character.

No one would have suspected that they had spent the night in each other's arm, quietly comforting the raging thoughts in both their minds.

And no one could have possibly guessed that they had both returned the next night and the nights after that, gazing at the stillness of the lake, mute, disregarding each other's presence, except their linked hands that lay between them.

* * *

A week later, it was morning again. Giving his hand a customary squeeze, she was about to withdraw back to the Castle when, for the first time, he squeezed back. Slowly, almost cautiously, he opened his eyes. Once cold and cruel, his grey orbs swam with more emotion than she ever remembered. Unable to tear her eyes away from the depths of his, she stared back, looking for any signs of how to proceed.

A few minutes passed.

As if he hadn't just woken up with a stiff back from sleeping on the forest floor, he rose gracefully, his tall frame towering over hers. She inclined her delicate face to follow his movements.

Not once had his eyes left hers.

They kept darting back and forth between her chocolate circles, looking for answers to questions she couldn't comprehend. The intensity of his search surprised her but she didn't cower under his scrutiny, portraying every inch of her confident aura.

After a long moment, he nodded, satisfied.

"What do you want, Granger?" he asked, his voice hoarse with sleep.

Glad to finally hold a conversation with her partner for the past week, she relaxed her stance, smiling slightly.

"Sleep well, Draco?" she replied, ignoring his question entirely.

Her use of his given name had shocked him. She could tell by the way his right eyebrow gave a barely noticeable twitch.

For once, Draco Malfoy was completely unsure how to act around a Mudblood.

He settled for asking the question that had been bugging him throughout the past week.

"Why?"

"Because I wanted to. And you needed it," was her confident reply.

It seemed as though nothing else needed saying. Although he could think of a fair few answers he would love to demand of her, it just didn't seem necessary.

So, he simply nodded. Looking down at their linked hands, he gave her hand a final squeeze before releasing it. With a nod and another soft smile back, she turned and walked back to the castle, leaving him standing alone, contemplating what to do next.

He was sure of one thing though. He was no longer confused.

It seemed the Gods above had made the decision for him.

And that had been the start of their friendship.

Neither had known that little over a year later, they would become each other's lifeline, their shared experiences binding them in an unbreakable bond. They hadn't known that they would comfort each other in their time of need, much like she had comforted him back then.

It had been the start of a beautiful friendship, so strong that it was often hard to tell that they had been enemies little over a year ago.

If only their friendship had grown over better circumstances. If only their friendship could inspire others to hold onto the better things in life in the time of war.

Although impossibly strong, their friendship that grew became a secret to the majority of people around them. Only in their sanctuary or their chambers, could they be normal—be friends.

To the outside world, they still hated each other. They even gained great amusement from staging mock fights.

Now, in the present, as she walked towards their shared chambers, Hermione—the Head Girl—was afraid they would soon be fighting a real one.

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**AN/: Hope you enjoyed that chapter. Please review and let me know what you thought :) ~Kay**

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******AN/: ****Thank you to persevera, Audemed, MadameGiry25, FalconLux, XStrawberryDuckFeathersX, AnneNevilleReviews, Adden, Susan M. M, Bloodredfirefly and Mrs Adriana Cullen for their reviews for this chapter :) ****Thank you to everyone who followed this story and to those who added it to their favourites!**


	5. IV: The Plight

**IV: The Plight**

He remembered the start of term perfectly. Having been finally able to leave his morbidly sullen household, he had been counting down the days till he would be back at Hogwarts. Although he had heard from her (she had sent a few coded owls), he remembered how impatient he had been to see her again.

_"_Draco!" an excited voice had called when he entered his new, luxurious rooms for the first time.

A blur of black and brown had followed, launching herself into his arms. Chuckling, he had enclosed his arms around her frame, leaning his head into her wild hair, breathing in her comforting scent.

"Aren't you excited to see me," he teased. "Be careful, dear, or someone might think you fancy the unbelievably handsome Slytherin Prince."

That earned him one of her characteristic punches. He rubbed his arm more for show than in pain, looking at her mirthful chocolate eyes.

"Being away from you for so long made me forget how much of a prat you are," she replied dryly, pulling away from his embrace. She moved her eyes down his body, scrutinising his appearance as she looked for any sign of injury.

"How are you, Draco?" she inquired, her concern leaking through.

"Oh, I'm fine, love," he mumbled, embarrassed. "Haven't I told you you worry too much? I'm still just a lackey. I won't be forced to join them till my birthday. Besides, a spoilt Pureblooded brat is nothing to lose sleep over."

Her fist crashed against his arm again.

Shaking her head, she sighed in frustration. "How many times have I told you not to joke with me like that? You are my world, Draco. The one friend I have who knows the real me. Don't put yourself down."

It was funny how life worked out.

Two years ago, he had insulted her daily, begrudging her for her heritage and very existence. He had truly hated her, having been bred to despise her kind. One year ago, his friendship with her had outgrown any of his previous alliances. Looking at her cheerful face, he couldn't be more grateful for the way things had panned out. She was practically glowing with happiness to see him.

Something wasn't right.

Her eyes were a little too bright, her skin a little too healthy, her lips a little too pink.

His eyes narrowed.

"Drop the glamour, Hermione."

The brilliant smile that had lit her face just a moment ago vanished.

"What gave me away?" she asked, defeated.

"No need to worry about your spell-casting abilities," he reassured her, even though his concern was building up to a crescendo. "I know you too well to believe that everything is as perfect as you would like it to seem."

He watched as she visibly drooped, looking old and weary rather than the youthful girl she had appeared to be only moments ago. Sighing, she looked at him once and dropped the glamour.

Her hair remained the same, wild and vivacious as ever.

Everything else changed.

Her eyes had sunken. Dark bags framed them, evidence of her extreme exhaustion. Her lips were red and chaffed, still sporting a healing cut on her lower swollen lip. Her left cheek was covered in a discoloured green-blue bruise. Her entire posture had fallen in on itself.

His only solace were her chocolate eyes. Although laced with defeat, they were still shining brightly with the residual happiness of seeing him. There was still a fire behind her pupils, a determination that raged through.

She was still very much alive.

He gathered her in his arms again, nuzzling his face in her neck. He needed to reassure himself that she was still here, and not there where her soul was slowly beaten out of her.

"I'm so sorry, Hermione. I'm so sorry I can't protect you," he whispered in her ear continuously, repenting for actions that were not in his control.

Turning her head, she placed a soft kiss on his cheek. Lifting his face in her hands, she touched their foreheads together.

"Look at me, Draco. I'm okay. I'm here. I'm fine. I'm back with you," she whispered, hating to see him drown in his own guilt.

For a moment, he closed his eyes, letting himself believe that she was speaking the truth.

The illusion didn't last long.

Opening his eyes, he nodded, disentangling himself from her. As he always did, he linked their hands together and pulled them towards the leather couch situated in front of the roaring fire.

Once seated, he turned his body slightly to face her. Reciprocating his actions, she waited for the inevitable questions.

"How was summer?" he inquired, knowing that the answers he needed lay within this particular line of questioning.

"Successful."

"Have you been inducted?" His voice was emotionless, hiding the worry he felt.

"Not yet," she replied with a shake of her head. "They must believe I have grown free of the Trace before I can even ask."

He sighed in relief. His stiff posture relaxed minutely, as if letting a weight fall off his shoulders.

"How far deep are you, Granger?"

"Pretty far. I know he begrudgingly trusts me. We both know he needs me. However, he has always been one for appearances and dramatics."

"You make the Dark Lord sound like bloody Dumbledore," he replied, exasperated by her almost flippant tone.

"They are more similar than you would think," she joked feebly.

"What have you been doing for him?"

"Research and potions mainly. Losing Professor Snape lost him the best Potions Master in the entire country. He needs me to brew draughts and salves for his faithful Death Eaters, if he wants them to be of a certain standard. Merlin knows none of his lackeys could manage that," she sneered.

"Of course, I shouldn't forget my invaluable asset as their entertainment," she continued bitterly. "He gains morbid pleasure from seeing me fight with his new followers. You could call it a training mechanism: if you defeat the Mudblood, you own her; if you are defeated, you will be tortured."

Looking at the wonderful woman before him, he couldn't help but feel the inherent urge to protect her. Not that she needed his protection.

Merlin knew she could kick his arse anytime she wanted.

However, nothing could stop him from making his promise.

"I'm so sorry, Hermione. I can only promise you that if you ever choose to stop, I will be there in a heartbeat to pull you out. If you ever need help—I don't care what they do to me—I will protect you with my life."

Holding her small hands to his chest, he pleaded for her to understand.

"Just promise me that, no matter what is at stake, you will always come back. Don't leave me alone, Granger. Promise me you will never abandon me."  
Her wise eyes filled with the warmth that always made him grateful for the way his life had changed.

"I know, Draco, I promise. As long as I know I have you to come home to, nothing could stop me from coming back."

With that, she kissed his forehead tenderly, her soft lips sealing the promise.

"Now, Draco, don't fret about the future. Tell me, how would you like to go terrorise some naïve, young Griffindors who have yet to encounter their Slytherin Head Boy?"

Rising with a chuckle, he squeezed her hands before letting go. He hated seeing her battered and bruised from her skirmishes. He hated that no one even knew how much she had sacrificed for the rest of the world. He hated letting her go—he hated that he had helped her worm her way into the Dark Lord's dungeons.

But they all had their parts to play in this war.

No matter how much they despised them.

Sitting in the same position as he had sat that very first day, he stared at the roaring fire, waiting for her to return yet again. It had become a habit of his now, one he couldn't shake off. Each time she left, he waited, just as he was today. He knew it was very late (or early), he knew he should try to get some sleep, but he couldn't bring himself to even try.

Not when he knew what she was doing.

Not when he knew when she came back, she would come back marked.

Not when he imagined her lying broken and bleeding every time he closed his eyes. Merlin, he could even hear her blood-curling screams of agony.

So he sat, waiting.

He had been waiting for a long time.

When she had left, she had explicitly asked him to get some rest. She had hugged him tight, as she always did, and left with her black robes trailing behind her.

He had been anxious all day, knowing the inevitable would happen that night. He almost couldn't control the urge to take her away to a faraway land where she was safe and didn't  
have to walk into the serpent's pit willingly.

Half an hour later, he had taken to pacing a circle on their favourite rug, unable to hold out his frustration.

An hour later, he had hidden away in his room, trying to pretend that they lived in a different world.

Two hours later, he had cleared the living room as she did, throwing hexes and jinxes at targets, trying to burn out his anger and worry.

At midnight, too exhausted to continue, he had taken a seat on their couch, running through Occlumency exercises to occupy himself.

At two, he had given up trying to be productive and simply sat still, staring at the fire.

At half past three, he surrendered, bringing out the Firewhisky in hope that the burn in his throat would ease the pain in his chest.

At four, he was numb.

Still, he waited for her return.

He needed to see her safe.

* * *

When Hermione reached her chambers, she found Draco sitting in their couch with a blanket thrown over his pyjama clad body. He was staring blankly at a spot on the wall, an empty glass clenched in his hands, his eyes distant and unseeing.

As soon as she made her presence known, he flew out, coming to stand next to her. The glass tumbled from his hands, forgotten, and clanked loudly on the carpeted floor, possibly cracking. Neither of them cared.

She dropped her glamour wordlessly—they had made a deal not to shield each other from the truth any more.

Calmly, he pulled out her five vials from his pocket, each containing a perfectly brewed potion in assorted colours and consistency. She quickly downed them, hoping to ease the lingering burning from her induction. Taking her right hand, he carefully led her to the couch. After disposing of the empty bottle of Firewhisky, he walked over to their counter and drank his sobering potion before picking up a salve.

Meanwhile, Hermione had disposed of yet another set of blood-soaked bandages. The crimson cotton had frayed, sticking to her darkened wound as blood clotted around the gushing mess. Every few seconds, the dark reptile that was embedded into her skin would hiss and squirm, invading new skin and drawing new blood. Even though she would never admit it, she was a little worried. She knew the Dark Mark shouldn't bleed as much as it was, considering the majority of new Death Eaters were expected to participate in the revels the night after. She had feared that the Dark Lord had created the mark so it hurt those he deemed unworthy: half-breeds, werewolves, Mudbloods, and so on.

She had brewed the salve yesterday in preparation for such an event. Made from all natural healing ingredients, the only magical ingredient it contained was a drop of unicorn blood. She hoped it would quicken her body's ability to heal the surrounding tissue.

Kneeling on the ground in front of her, Draco uncapped the container. He scooped up a rather generous amount and lathered her entire forearm carefully, making sure to cover every inch with a thick layer of the healing salve. He redid her bandages by hand when he finished, hoping the absence of magic would help ease the pain.

Taking a seat beside her on the couch, he finally spoke.

"How bad was it?"

"As bad as expected," she yawned, her exhaustion creeping through. "We knew it wouldn't be easy."

"Do you need anything else?" he inquired in a gentle tone.

"Nothing but a warm bath and a long sleep."

"Did Dumbledore agree?" he asked, curious.

"Yes, although he added Professor Snape into the equation."

Nodding, he couldn't help feel glad that they finally had someone else to help if they needed it.

Leaning over, she kissed his cheek, thanking him for his help tonight.

"Go get some rest," he ordered. "We can talk tomorrow. Wake me if you need anything."

"Good night, Draco."

"Good night, Granger."

With that, he finally went to bed.

Less anxious than before, it wasn't long before sleep welcomed him. Behind his eyes, he dreamt of a world in which he didn't have to worry whether his only friend would come back alive every time she left. He dreamt of her playful eyes and vibrant smile, her untamed hair and unchained personality. In the background, although he didn't realise it, he dreamt of a black shadow that watched over her, protecting her from harm's way.

* * *

**AN/: Hope you enjoyed that chapter. I apologise that it is a little smaller than the majority of my chapters. I considered adding a bit of the next chapter to this, but this was where the natural break occurred. **

**Please let me know what you thought by reviewing. I welcome any comments, questions or criticism. After all, that is the only way I know if I'm doing anything right and how to improve.**

**Thank you for reading. :) ****~Kay**

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******AN: Thank you to persevera, MadameGiry25, FalconLux, XStrawberryDuckFeathersX, AnneNevilleReviews, Adden, peace and joy, LadyDunla and Bloodredfirefly for their reviews :) Thank you to everyone who followed this story and to those who added it to their favourites!**


	6. V: The Professor

**V: The Professor**

Thankfully, Saturday passed relatively peacefully. True to his word, Albus had ensured that no one disturbed her for the entire day. Feeding the rest of the trio the same excuse as everyone else, he had claimed that she had come down with a one-day flu, which was awfully contagious, and should be allowed to rest. Draco had even been temporarily relocated to the Slytherin dormitory to keep up pretences.

After checking over her to make sure she was truly OK, Draco had let her be. The past few weeks had taught him to leave her alone; his constant badgering would only have gotten in the way.

Although she had appreciated the restful day (which she made full use of by sleeping in till the afternoon), she did not like the bubble of anticipation that was growing inside of her.

Today, she would meet Professor Snape.

She would meet someone from the side of the Light who knew of her actions. If that wasn't enough, she would meet the only person that truly understood the severity of her position—the one person who had a concrete idea of what she had to do to get there.

He knew what she did every day.

Despite being grateful that she wasn't summoned yesterday, she couldn't help but wonder why she hadn't been invited to a revel. They were traditionally held on the next day of initiation. She was sure the Dark Lord and his loyal followers would have gained great pleasure from playing with her further.

Maybe it had something to do with her arm.

Having improved massively from the fateful day, the blood loss caused by the Dark Mark had decreased significantly yesterday. In fact, this morning, she had been pleasantly surprised to see she hadn't bled through her bandages overnight. However, although the bleeding had reduced, it hadn't stopped entirely yet.

The characteristic burn of the Dark Magic within her wound hadn't receded as much as she had expected. With every passing hour, she had noticed the fires surrounding the nearby tissues decrease, almost retreating to a single point within the skull in her mark.

She suspected that the Dark Mark hadn't completely accepted her yet.

She had no doubt that it interacted with blood and had deemed hers unworthy. However, it also sought power.

Now _that_, she had plenty of.

She hypothesised that her magic was fighting a raging battle with the Dark Mark. Her intensely powerful core was overwhelming the Dark magic, forcing its acceptance. This was supported by the fact that she could feel her core interacting with it. The pain near her wrist caused by the Dark wound was amplified by the burn caused by her own magic's interference. Moreover, the battle had prevented her from transforming into her Animagus form.

She had no doubt that the mark, just as any other interaction with the Dark Lord, was a test. Although he hoped that it would kill or maim her, he knew that if she passed, she would be confirmed as a being of considerable power.

If there was one thing that the Dark Lord loved, it was controlling power.

However, it was an exhausting process.

She did not look forward to her meeting with Professor Snape.

* * *

As it turned out, she had to deal with Harry and Ron before she could even begin to wonder when the dreaded meeting would occur.

Early on the Sunday morning, her doors had been practically beaten down by the two teenage boys. Throwing a scowl at Draco (who was lurking in the background, scowling back), Ron rushed in and wasted no time in grabbing her into a bone-crushing hug. Harry, with a much more languid pace, had walked in, and with a nod at Draco, hugged her with the appropriate amount of force after she had been released from Ron's death grip.

After reassuring the both of them that she was indeed better from her illness, and that she simply needed more rest, she had proceeded to question them about their homework. Shaking his head at her characteristic prodding, Ron had informed her that they were on time with all their assignments and only had the Transfiguration essay set on Friday to complete tonight. Harry had simply chuckled at her question.

Asking the customary Quidditch questions for the sake of politeness, she had nodded along with Ron's enthusiastic description of the practice match she had missed. Apparently, it had been quite a sight, as Harry had performed a perfect Wronski Feint, sending the Hufflepuff Seeker crashing into the stands.

Noticing her lacklustre responses, Harry had diverted the topic to one that held both their interests: Dumbledore's Army. Since its creation in their fifth year, the DA met every weekend for those who wished to come along. After the Department of Mysteries, the majority of their members had understood the importance of regular practice. They were doing quite nicely, if she could say so herself.

She had no doubt they could effectively protect against Death Eaters. If grouped together, she would even say they could defeat quite a few. In a team, they were truly a force to be reckoned with.

For that, she was glad.

After Harry filled her in about the progress they made on Saturday, they discussed practising the strategic use of the Patronus Charm in their next meeting. Having finally noticed Hermione's exhausted state, Harry bid her goodbye, wishing her a restful day, and forcefully dragged Ron out the door.

Heaving a sigh of relief, Hermione crashed into her couch. After ordering some tea from the house-elves, she drank her beverage, relishing the caffeine rush that followed.

She summoned her homework parchments over to the coffee table and got to work, hoping to distract herself from the anxiety created by the Potions Master's impending arrival.

By the time the clock struck 8:00pm, Hermione had convinced herself that the former spy was not coming. Having spent the entire day fretting about their inevitable meeting, she finally decided to give up believing that he would turn up today.

It seemed like she wasn't the only one dreading their encounter.

She was oddly pleased about that.

Having finished all her homework, she decided to practice some of her mental exercises. Raising and removing her mental shields periodically, she added an extra layer of defence with each completed alternation. Satisfied that she had sufficiently blocked her mind, she rechecked the false memories placed behind each shield. Taking particular care to add the detailed sensory data which accompanied her false feelings, she made sure to recreate some altered memories as well.

Another hour passed. She had now moved onto meditating, immersing herself in the feeling of her animalistic magical core caressing her surroundings.

The battle was almost over: she could feel it as her energy resources increased. Thankfully, the burn had also significantly lessened.

A sharp serious of knocks startled her.

Standing up from her seated position on her favourite rug, she withdrew her wand. A quick check of the wards allowed her to see who was at her door.

The surly face of one Severus Snape greeted her; the ever-present scowl remained his most distinguished feature. His ghost white and pale skin contrasted heavily with the black hair that fell lankly to his shoulders, framing his long, lean face. The harsh cut of his high cheekbones may have looked attractive on another face, however, coupled with his impossibly dark eyes, they only accented his forever cruel expression. His thin, chaffed lips were pulled down in a frown, actively displaying his anger at the current situation. Dressed in his distinctive black frock coat and billowing robes, he was quite a sight glaring at her door.

With a flick of her wand, the door opened, inviting the professor into her chambers.

Walking in deliberately, he stopped as close to the doorway as possible, disdain shining through his stoic posture.

"Miss Granger," he sneered in the form of a greeting.

"Professor." She nodded back.

Walking towards her green leather couch, she reclaimed her seat, blatantly ignoring his glare.

"Would you like to take a seat?" she asked politely, waving to an armchair near the fire.

"Whilst I would love to make idle chit-chat, Miss Granger," he replied mockingly, "I have no time for tea parties. I am merely following orders that are above my influence."

Obsidian eyes met cinnamon brown, filled with contempt and disregard.

Mercilessly, he continued, hoping to break through the harsh outer shell of the composed student in front of him.

"Although I would love nothing more to be rid of your insufferable presence, I could not convince my puppet master of the stupidity of his request. Which brings us to our situation here: you will receive a poor yet just grade on your essay tomorrow. Unable to admit your incompetence, you will make the mistake of questioning my judgement and authority in front of your fellow pupils. You will be given detention for your impudence, where we shall discuss our little predicament," he ordered coldly.

All he received was another short nod.

He had been expecting at least some form of a reaction.

The Hermione Granger he knew was a feisty little thing—her eyes lit up with an imperceptible fire every time she was challenged. She did not sit back and take insults lightly, especially when her intelligence was questioned. She was not controlled or measured. She was a Gryffindor, through and through.

Her personality had always reminded him of wildfire: determined, meticulous and unstoppable. Conspicuous and impatient.

None of these adjectives could be used to describe the woman in front of him.

What he saw before him was a woman of control, power and authority. Even from where he was standing, he could feel the magical energy that flowed off her being. No longer the student that sought acceptance from everyone, confidence practically radiated off her every action. Although her posture was relaxed, there was a vigilance in her stance.

He had no doubt, if provoked, she could respond in seconds.

As her brown eyes met his again, he noticed the same fire behind her pupils that he identified with her. If anything, her determination raged through stronger than ever, blazing intensely.

However, her face remained a cold, emotionless mask.

At that moment, he felt he was staring at a Slytherin.

"Thank you, Professor," she replied dismissively. "I shall meet you tomorrow."

She stood up and turned her back towards him, disregarding his presence entirely. Walking up the stairs to her room, she turned her head slightly and called, "I trust you can let yourself out, Professor. Good night."

With an elegance he couldn't believe, she walked through the door to her rooms and shut it softly behind her, leaving him alone in the Head Students' shared chambers.

He didn't know whether to be furious at her blatant disrespect or admire the perfection with which she had played her role. He had only expected either of two forms of his student this evening: still the over-achieving know-it-all, or a broken shell of a girl. He had hoped fervently for the former. Although he hadn't expected to find the same over-enthusiastic student he knew from his classes, he hadn't thought he would be so completely nonplussed by the character he had met.

There was one thing Severus Snape was sure of: Hermione Granger was a spy. And a bloody good one at that.

Lips twisting up into an almost smile, he realised that tomorrow promised to be a very interesting day.

He turned around and walked out of her chambers, black robes billowing behind him.

She had passed his test.

* * *

Monday morning Double Potions had been a topic of complaint since the start of term amongst the Golden Trio. Neither Ron nor Harry appreciated starting the week with the disparaging presence of the Potions Master. Hermione hated having two lessons of continuous practical work after her no doubt tiring and painful weekends.

Suffice to say, Monday mornings didn't find any of them in a particularly cheerful mood.

Which is why, when Hermione joined in to the feeling of dread, no questions were asked.

Breakfast had been a quite affair as usual; everyone hated saying goodbye to the weekend. Ron had guzzled down his food as Harry had struggled to keep from dozing off. Walking down to Potions had woken him up though—the anxiety caused by the impending doom (or humiliation) worked as a fine stimulant.

To Hermione, the dungeons seemed eerier than usual, the cold more threatening, the echoes more ominous.

Perhaps it was just her perception.

As the Golden Trio walked into the Potions classroom together, it was clear something wasn't right.

None of the cauldrons had been set out, ready for use by the only advanced class in the Castle. The ingredients were safely locked away in their cupboard, heavily warded since the incident in their second year.

A neat pile of paper was placed on the Professor's desk.

Their essays had been marked.

The atmosphere dropped suddenly in the classroom.

Never once had the Potion's Master suspended a practical lesson simply to give out the weekly markings.

Something had gone horribly wrong.

Each student found another's eyes, filled with sheer panic over what the entire class could have done wrong. Had they all misinterpreted the assignment? Had they forgotten to read between the lines to obtain some vital information? Had someone plagiarised another's work?

The air of panic that had surrounded the classroom died down abruptly.

Clear, loud footsteps had been heard.

Determined to not provide him with any more ammunition, everyone sat on their seats, parchments and quills at the ready. Today, they silently promised to be on their best behaviour.

The large and heavy wooden door of the dungeon classroom blasted open a moment later. Without a glance at anyone, the feared Potions Master marched towards his desk, his black robes billowing with increased fervour behind him. With a violent flick of his hand, the door slammed shut, the stone walls of the dungeon amplifying the piercing slam that followed.

Every student—apart from Hermione of course—flinched.

Sharply turning around to face the class, Professor Severus Snape stood at the front of his room, wand clenched in his right fist. His eyes flashed with a dangerous light.

With a movement so rapid that almost no one had the time to process what was happening, he levitated a piece of parchment and incinerated it.

Several sharp intakes of breath were heard.

"I had believed I had seen it all when it came to unintelligent dunderheads," he started with a deliberate drawl.

Slowly, almost carefully, he stalked down the middle of the classroom, taking his own sweet time to glare at each and every student before him.

After working through all the terrified faces, his eyes stopped at the one student he was staging this entire debacle for.

Not that he wasn't enjoying himself.

Although her face mirrored the same paralysed expression as the rest of the class, her eyes were locked with his, the same fire burning in the depths of her chocolate orbs.

Oh, he was going to enjoy this immensely.

As a predator circles his prey, he circled around her table languidly.

"I had thought I had at least one student in this class who, whilst utterly stale and uncreative, could at least regurgitate what was taught to a satisfactory quality."

Stopping right in front of her chair, he looked down his hooked nose at her, as if something utterly repulsive had offended him.

"I had been mistaken."

Somewhere at the back of a classroom, a girl had gasped. The flutter of noise that followed confirmed the shared feeling of disbelief that was running through the group of students.

No one, not even the frightening Potions Master, had ever questioned the undisputed intelligence of the Griffindor Princess. It was a universally acknowledged fact that the Head Girl's knowledge far surpassed any other student's—and even some teachers'.

Hermione should have expected his dramatics. He was exacting his revenge.

"It seems the Head Girl believes herself above the rules," he purred, taking great pleasure in her humiliation. "Miss Granger underestimated my competence and risked plagiarising her two and a half feet essay, copying almost directly from the example text on page 274 in Durmstrang's Third Optional Advanced Decree Magical Ingredients and Miraculous Potions."

He slammed his fist on her desk, towering over her, his face intimidatingly close, his eyes threatening.

"She should have known better than to try and fool a Potions Master," he spat out, furious.

Unfortunately for her, Ron had always been a little dense.

"'Mione would never copy-" he began passionately, only to be interrupted by the incensed teacher.

"Twenty points from Gryffindor for speaking out of turn, Mister Weasley," he bellowed ruthlessly, turning his harsh glare to her red-headed companion, whose complexion currently matched the colour of his hair.

"Let this be a lesson to all of you fools. Fifty points, Miss Granger, for your insult to academia and your insolence." Returning his gaze to her, he smiled in a manner that would have made anyone else cower.

"A further twenty points for accessing a book solely found in the Restricted Section of the Library," he continued, one side of his lips pulled up above the other.

"And lastly, detention, every Friday, for six weeks with me for your mockery of my teaching abilities. Remember to bring your toothbrush, Miss Granger. There will be several greasy cauldrons for you to clean." He finished his execution with perfection.

Whilst walking back towards the blackboard, he called, "This lesson, rather than learning the necessary charms required to successfully brew a variation of Veritaserum, you will be organising the ingredients cupboard."

When he turned around to smile at her cruelly, she saw the mischievous glitter in his eyes, confirming his love for this dramatic affair.

"I would hurry if I were you, Miss Granger," he sneered. "There is an awful lot to do and very little time to dilly-dally. I've heard that the Blast-Ended Skrewt Stingers require an awful lot of care to handle appropriately."

With that, he vanished her belongings from her desk. A chalk hovered over the blackboard, writing out, in his distinctive scrawl, the instructions for this lesson.

Noticing the enraged look on Ron's face, she patted his shoulder, hoping to calm him down. Offering the possibility of Slytherin interference ("Malfoy looks a little too happy, don't you think?") she walked past Harry, who offered a sympathetic look, into the ingredients cupboard.

Not a single vial was out of place.

The shelves were arranged as perfectly as ever, labelled clearly for even the most careless of first years to understand. Ordered by most common to rarer ingredients, the cupboard was immaculately organised. There wasn't even a speck of dust or cobweb in sight.

On the far right corner bottom shelf lay a clear flask which contained an oddly conspicuous potion. Walking over, she examined the deep scarlet colour and custard-thick consistency.

She recognised it immediately.

It was an extremely strong variation of the high-quality Pain-killing Potions used in St Mungo's. This particular version was a little too strong for widespread prescription. And was a little too illegal because of the use of Wolfsbane root as a base for its preparation.

She had brewed it herself over the summer whilst adjusting to her new… occupation.

The major benefit was its ability to counteract lingering Dark magic by the use of Wolfsbane as its main ingredient.

She could think of three possible explanations for it to be in this cupboard.

Either Professor Snape liked to keep stock of quite illegal potions in the students' cupboard—this seemed the least likely.

Or he enjoyed taunting her with an unattainable potion that would decrease the lingering ache caused by the initiation process.

Or Professor Snape, overgrown bat of the dungeons, actually had a heart and had brewed it specifically for her consumption.

In all honestly, she thought the second option was most likely.

Looking around (ignoring the call of the answer to her physical exhaustion), she tried to find something that could be classified as work to do whilst being punished for a framed, faked crime.

And that is how the Potion's Master found her, circling around his cupboard, inspecting every minute detail with her expert eyes.

He couldn't help but notice that the fire was still present.

Clearing his throat, he announced his presence. He had expected her to be at least slightly surprised at his sudden appearance, but she merely turned around and looked at him expectantly, as if she had known he had been there all along.

Her competence was admirable yet infuriating at the same time.

"There is nothing for you to do here, Miss Granger," he explained. "The Headmaster has ordered me to give you the morning off." He made sure to add as much disgust to his voice as possible.

"Meet me in my office at seven for your detention," he ordered.

Looking beyond her wild, curly mane, he noticed that the Painkilling Potion he had brewed seemed untouched. Silently commanding it to his hand, he grabbed hold of the delicate neck as it flew towards him.

Holding it out as if the very action pained him, he shoved the flask in Hermione's face.

"Believe it or not, Miss Granger, I have no wish to poison you," he continued in a composed manner, although a feeling of indignation started brewing inside of him. "It would go against my explicit orders," he clarified, justifying his unusual act of humanity.

"I would suggest resting directly after consuming it; the strength of its relief has been known to cause severe drowsiness in some people."

"I am aware, Professor," she answered confidently. "This is not the first time I've been acquainted with this potion. I assure you, I will be just fine." She leaned her head slightly to one side, almost analysing his surprising act of kindness.

Nodding her head courteously, she thanked him.

In a mocking tone, he continued, ignoring the grace with which she conducted herself, "I trust you will be able to find your way out of this cupboard without attracting any unwanted attention."

As he walked out of the cramped enclosure, he called back, "I expect you to catch up on the work you have missed as a consequence of your actions."

An obedient, "Yes, Professor," followed him, her voice returning to the higher range of a school girl.

Although he hated to admit, he respected her talent.

She acted beautifully.

A second later, an invisible hand began writing in a neat script on the parchment resting before him. He could easily identify her cursive, perfectly spaced script.

_Thank you Professor,_ the text read. _However, I would appreciate a distraction. A door opening with no physical cause is bound to make the students curious._

He hadn't heard, seen or sensed her leave the cupboard. Right now, however, he had no doubt she was leaning over his desk, writing out the secret note to him with a perfectly Disillusioned quill.

She was good.

With a barely noticeable nod, he walked towards Longbottom's cauldron. He had no doubt he would find something to berate about there.

Whilst he snarled viciously at his worst student's incompetency, reminding him of the importance of cleaning one's knife between ingredients to prevent contamination, he observed the door from his peripheral vision.

When the entire class' attention had been turned to the Potions Master, the Gryffindor Princess had silently slipped out of the room through a tiny opening of the door.

Allowing his lips to curl up into a cruel smile, he continued lecturing his class of dunderheads.

His most able student had just left.

* * *

**AN/: Hope you enjoyed that chapter. I was extremely excited to finally release something that involved Severus and Hermione interacting with each other. Please let me know what you think by reviewing: that is the only way I know what I am doing right, or how to improve.**

**Thank you for reading! ****~Kay**

* * *

******AN/: Thank you to MadameGiry25, persevera, Audemed, FalconLux, XStrawberryDuckFeathersX, Adden, Lady Dunla, Cait and Bloodredfirefly for their reviews! :) ****Thank you to everyone who followed this story and to those who added it to their favourites!**


	7. VI: The Meeting (i)

**AN/ I don't usually like doing this, but I'm going to do it: I'm really struggling with this story. Not when it comes to writing it, because I thoroughly enjoy the process and love this plot-line, but with posting it. I honestly don't know if my readers enjoy or like anything about it, or if there is something that I need to change and address. At the moment, I'm writing chapters (and I'm a few chapters ahead) but I don't have a sense of whether whoever is reading this enjoys it or not. Whenever I look at my statistics, I see that people are reading this story, but I'm not sure if the majority of you like it. To those who have been reviewing, thank you so much. Hearing from you truly makes my day and motivates me to continue.**

**I'm sorry, I hate doing this, because it can be frustrating, as a reader, to hear the author asking for reviews. But, if you read this story, and have any opinions about it - whether you like it or are put off by it, whether you like my writing style or think its tedious and changes should be made, or if you like the characters or find them annoying - please leave a review letting me know what you thought, simply so I know how to improve. It could be something as simple as a dialogue or description you really liked, or something that sounded off to you and you were annoyed by.**

**So, I'm sorry for doing this, but please, if you have a few seconds/minutes to spare, drop a review after reading a chapter. Thank you, I truly appreciate it. :) ~Kay**

**(I just wanted to say, having published this note, thank you so much to everyone who has reviewed since. I've loved the feedback, support and kind words I've received. Thank you!)**

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**VI: The Meeting (i)**

She had to admit—she had been surprised. Professor Snape's reaction had been unexpected. She had not been expecting him to even care about her pain, let alone try and help her alleviate it; she definitely hadn't expected a lesson off.

Stranger things could have happened, she supposed.

After spending the morning relaxing and moving ahead of her assignments, she went through her daily Occlumency exercises.

It wouldn't be long until she could transform again. So long as nothing got in her way.

Charming herself to look a little more dishevelled, she made her way down to the Great Hall for lunch. She had waited a bit to make sure it seemed like the task assigned to her during Potions had overrun. She had no doubt her boys would like to comfort her after suffering the terrible injustice from their Potions Master.

As she had expected, the moment she entered the Great Hall, the tell-tale ginger head rushed down and grabbed her into a hug, all the while muttering about cruel Potions Masters and evil Slytherins. Although Harry had followed in a more controlled manner, the dangerous shine in his emerald eyes didn't bode well.

Neither of them were particularly happy. As it always was with them, their prime suspect was one Draco Malfoy.

Assuring them that it was fine, that she had used magic to help her, and that she would deal with the ferret on her own, she proceeded to have an enjoyable lunch with her two oldest friends.

Even if they didn't know the real her, she was glad she had them. Their normality (an ironic quality used to describe the Boy Who Lived and his loyal best friend) always comforted her.

After a refreshingly jovial lunch, she decided to take a little detour before walking to her Transfiguration class.

She had a fight to stage.

She had timed her departure perfectly. She had noticed Draco finishing his lunch and walking out of the Hall with a few of his fellow Slytherins. She knew he had Charms this afternoon.

She planned to intercept him.

Two minutes later, she was walking down the corridor in the opposite direction to him and his little posse.

Subtly, she smoothed her skirt down, as if ironing out an invisible wrinkle.

The message had been sent.

As she walked past their group with her head down, she heard his voice carry down the corridor.

"I heard you had to restock the entire ingredients cupboard today, Granger. You must be ever so eager to get scrubbing on those cauldrons."

Turning around, she came face to face with the cold, superior mask of the Pureblooded Prince.

"Didn't it feel oddly right to be doing medial tasks on the ground, where you belong?" he sneered, the perfect persona of prejudiced arrogance.

Quickly (with believable speed), she withdrew her wand from her robe, pointing it directly at his throat. Sensing her movements, he had done the same.

There they stood, two best friends, with their wands drawn at each other, looking as much as the enemies everyone perceived them to be.

"Listen, Malfoy," she hissed furiously, inching her wand a millimetre closer to his flesh. "I know you're the one who framed me; I saw the arrogant look on your face. And trust me, I will find the evidence.

"If you know what is best for you," she continued threateningly, "you will not mess with the Head Girl next time." In a sickly sweet tone, she spat, "Or have you forgotten that I have the authority to assign detention to any Slytherin arse—Head Boy or not?"

He tilted his head almost mockingly and smirked at her.

"Keep dreaming, Mudblood. Shall I remind you that you'll never hold such power over me?"

Quietening his voice to a whisper—one that could only be heard by the flock of Slytherins that had followed him—he said, "You are only good enough to be the play thing of the Dark Lord, at the scuff of his shoe, where you belong. Don't delude yourself into believing that your role is any greater than that of a disposable servant."

Without a moment's hesitation, she had screamed out a _Stupefy_, which he had expertly blocked, returning the favour with a well-timed _Reducto._ Jumping out of the way, she carelessly threw a _Petrificus Totalus_back.

Hogwarts had become used to the frequent fights between the Head Boy and Girl, escalated by their forced proximity by sharing a common room. Everyone knew they hated each other, and since their assignment, they had resorted to physical violence more often than not. Already strung out by the added responsibilities, and the façade of courteousness in front of teachers, the two were desperate for a release to their frustrations with each other.

It was an unspoken agreement between students to not disturb them when this occurred, preferring to keep a safe distance away from the often quite nasty duels. They promised to never report on their leaders, for fear of facing their wrath afterwards.

They would stop eventually.

A few spells later, footsteps too loud to be a student's were heard.

Within seconds, the duel had stopped, the surroundings restored to their perfect order. The Head Boy and Girl glared at each other feverishly; no one was under the impression that they had seen the last of this fight.

With violently sharp turns, both of them walked their opposite ways, grumbling promises of finishing what they had started later. When Professor Vector arrived at the corridor, there was nothing to suggest that anything unusual had occurred apart from the slightly larger crowd of students that was dispersing quickly.

Walking into the Transfiguration classroom just a few seconds before Professor McGonagall arrived, she smiled widely at Harry and Ron. She took a seat next to them and whispered, "I took care of Malfoy—don't worry about it." After giving them a brief run-down of their fight and promising to finish it later, she reached into her bag to get out a new piece of parchment and her quill.

Her job, for now, was done.

* * *

The rest of the day had passed relatively easily. As they had planned, Draco and her fight had gotten around the student body, along with her detention with Professor Snape for alleged plagiarism. No one doubted that the Head Boy had decided to get the Head Girl into trouble and had used the most stubborn, cruel and malicious teacher in Hogwarts to do so.

Which is why she was walking down to the dungeons at the moment.

She hated to admit it, even after all the things she had seen and done, she was a little apprehensive about her next meeting.

Everything she had done before was with a mask. Pretending to be an easily lead, loyal Death Eater was a mask. Pretending to be the same know-it-all Gryffindor Princess was a mask.

Being a spy was the closest she got to being the real Hermione Granger. Only Draco had seen her in such a way, and that was because necessity dictated it.

As she knocked on his door, she composed herself, portraying the confident spy within every inch of her being.

"Enter!" his silky voice called back, granting her permission into his office.

Opening the door quietly, she entered his work area.

Filled with vials, jars and potions ingredients, Professor Snape's office was a dimly-lit and gloomy room that seemed uninviting to even the bravest of students. Every inch of the dark office screamed work. Nothing seemed to suggest he held any personal interaction with the area: no pictures of memories past, no mementoes of better times, nothing suggested that this man considered his habitat a home.

Professor Snape was seated behind his rather large mahogany desk, grading papers. His eagle quill was scratching away at the paper furiously, no doubt writing scathing remarks about the incompetency and lack of basic intellect of one of his students. His furrowed brows and tight lips suggested that it was a particularly displeasing paper he was reading.

A few minutes passed.

He continued scribbling away on the piece of parchment. She continued standing at the door, waiting for permission to be seated.

After five minutes, she decided to leave him to his work, inviting herself to the rather uncomfortable looking seat in front of him.

After a few more excruciating moments, which were filled with only the scratch of his quill, he sighed, placing his quill back on its holder, transferring the parchment to a separate pile of his desk.

In his especially composed manner, he looked up at her, his obsidian eyes meeting her cinnamon brown once again.

"I see, Miss Granger," he said softly, "that we are in quite a dilemma."

Although she had only had very brief meetings with the Potions Professor since he had been made aware of her role, she had been unnerved by his casual acceptance of her admittance to the Death Eaters.

She had expected more of a reaction.

His calm demeanour only amplified her anxiety.

Silence.

Professor Snape brought his hand to his face, joining his fingers together, leaning them on his lips as if deep in thought.

Internally, she smirked.

She had him pinned.

After all, he wasn't the only one that could play mind games.

Leaning into the back of her uncomfortable chair, she crossed her legs, folding her hands over her stomach in an overly relaxed gesture.

He would not get a rise off of her.

In his dark eyes, she could see the tiniest glitter of amusement.

He was enjoying this back and forth.

Leaning forward from his seat, he looked calculatingly at her over the vast desk that separated them. She had no doubt that his gaze served multiple purposes: unnerving her, testing her, and judging her.

Casually, she met his eyes.

"Forgive me for this, Miss Granger," he started, not sounding apologetic in the slightest, "but I must see what the Headmaster has told me for myself."

Not a second later, she felt him attempt to enter her mind. At first, it was a gentle prod, one designed to see if she had any experience of Occlumency. After rebounding off her mental walls, the prods became more persistent, more violent, searching for the tell-tale weakness of a beginner. When he found none, he put his Mastery of Legilimency to use. Expertly, he immersed himself into the empty space between the start of her wall and edge of her mind. He spread his presence to encompass every inch of her defences, searching intricately for a weakness. When his prodding ended to no-avail, he pushed one last attack of complete brute force, hoping to overwhelm her.

She didn't even flinch. Neither did he.

Satisfied, he pulled away from her mind. Returning to his usual stoic and straight posture, he stared at her emotionlessly.

She stared back.

"I have to say, Miss Granger, when the Headmaster told me about you, I had thought the old man had finally succumbed to his senility. Either that, or he had decided to play his juvenile April Fools prank a bit early this year."

Tearing his eyes away from her, he looked into the fireplace behind her instead.

"When he showed me his memories, I had no choice but to believe," he muttered.

His words forced Hermione to break her silence.

"Professor, I sincerely hope the memories you saw were only temporarily placed in the Pensieve," she said politely, her voice finally her own deeper timbre rather than the higher squeak of her school-girl persona. She was always wary of leaving any evidence of her unique position, no matter how intangible. Why tempt fate when it had proven to enjoy playing with you already?

Facing her once again, he replied, "You misunderstood, Miss Granger. He simply allowed me access through Legilimency. He was unwilling to leave any traces of the memories."

Nodding gratefully, she returned to her silent listening.

Standing up, he walked towards the fire. The orange light cast a warmer glow on his profile, portraying him in a more caring light.

"What I saw, I didn't want to believe," he started softly, although it was only the beginning of a crescendo. "I refused to believe that a student under our care could have endangered herself in such a way. I refused to believe that a school-girl could have fooled not only the Order but the Dark Lord himself. I refused to believe that no one had noticed the training, the change, the turmoil of a young girl. I refused to believe that a school-girl had bested the brightest minds of the country that taught her at Hogwarts. I refused to believe that a student had seen it necessary to take matters into her own hands!

"I refused to believe that our Head Girl had been through the horrors that come with those pits of hell because she felt forced to take action against the Order's incompetence!" he bellowed furiously, his calm demeanour long forgotten.

Almost menacingly, he turned around to look at her, directing his attention on her solely.

"But when I saw you the next day, the evidence was clear. You were battered and bruised; the Dark Mark scurried your hand; you carried a new-found confidence, an authority brought only by experience and power.

"You were a spy," the Potions Professor whispered, defeated.

"This morning, I took pleasure in antagonising you—testing you. I enjoyed humiliating your know-it-all reputation, waiting to see if you would rise to the bait. I had to see your abilities for myself—if that emotionless mask sustained.

"You will be pleased to know you passed the test in your usual over-achieving manner," he concluded disparagingly.

She smiled slightly at that. She had known he was checking her limits and prodding her skills. She hadn't thought it was a full-blown test but more of a personal assessment of her capabilities.

"I must know this, Miss Granger," he murmured. "Do you have any idea what you have done?"

She had expected this question. She had been waiting for the rant that all adults provided her, asking her if she had any value of her innocence.

Sometimes, she couldn't help but wonder if they understood the value of the countless human lives she hoped to save.

Lives like theirs.

She simply nodded. She doubted he wanted to hear her say anything anyway.

She could see him building up to a crescendo once again.

"Have you any idea of the consequences of your actions? I realise you must have faced a fair few of them already; was it worth it? Do you realise that you can't simply take back what you have done?

"Do you realise you can never leave? You can never go back to your happy care-free life! Do you realise that dancing with the devil leaves you forever scarred? That there is no way out apart from death, either his or yours!" he implored.

"Can't you see that the mark never leaves you?" he whispered, as if in anguish. "You can't simply choose not to answer his calls one day—there is no running away—he will always have access to you because of that mark."

In one swift motion, he pushed up his sleeve, exposing the dreaded snake-skull, its dark black body standing out in great contrast against his alabaster skin. Unlike the rest of the Death Eaters, however, the snake no longer moved on his arm. The edges of the wound stood out in red, almost like an infected scar.

"You cannot run away—he will always have a hold of you. Even when you are no longer loyal, his summons will hurt—the torturous pain never leaves."

He sighed. "Do you understand what you have done?"

She had never heard such pain in his voice before. He spoke with such emotion—she had never before witnessed such depth from him. Although she knew the question was more rhetoric than genuine, she couldn't help but answer.

"I do, Professor," she stated, her confidence evident. "I did when I trained; I did when I approached him; I did when I took the mark."

Looking at her with haunted eyes, he asked the one question she did not wish to answer.

"Why, Miss Granger?" he whispered.

Sitting upright from her relaxed positioning in her chair, she titled her head questioningly at him.

"Why do it, Miss Granger?" he continued, looking at the fire once again, as if its warmth would warm his soul. "I refuse to believe that the inequality and injustice in the world convinced you to sell your soul to the devil himself. No. This is personal. Something forced you into action. Something more than Potter and his penchant for trouble."

"Is the Dark Lord actively planning my best friend's death not personal enough for you, Professor?" she replied bitingly.

"No," he dismissed, shaking his hand. Astutely observing her, he confirmed his suspicions. "Within you, lies the fire of revenge, Miss Granger. I recognise the thirst for vengeance burning within you: it is your fuel; it is the source of your never-ending determination."

"My reasons are exactly that, Professor," she replied, her voice a little cold. She needed to steer away from this conversation. Fast. "Mine."

Whipping his head furiously to glare at her, he walked to her seat, towering over her in an intimidating manner. Refusing to be patronised, Hermione stood up, meeting him eye-to-eye, challenging him to cross her.

"Why?" he asked again, insistent.

She had never expected that he could suspect something she had hidden so perfectly with a simple glance. She hated that he recognised something within herself, no doubt because he had faced it himself in the past. Although she did not know his story, his motivation for betraying the Dark Lord, she knew one thing: he sought justice. He was wronged, and he sought to correct that. Although she had acted to protect Harry and her friends, there had been a trigger that forced her into action. A trigger that he had identified within her. No one knew.

No one would ever know.

Shaking her head, she kept her silence.

Frustrated, he sighed.

She watched him battle with the urge to question her again. She knew he was willing to interrogate her for as long as it took. Professor Snape was a stubborn man, and he did not hesitate to exercise his control to get what he wanted. She felt her Occlumency barriers being attacked again as he continued his determined search for her motivation. He found nothing: he could not gain access to her mind without hurting both her and himself deeply. She watched as resignation seep into his posture after a few minutes of fruitless searching.

He knew he could not intimidate it out of her.

"How?" he asked instead.

With a soft smile, she answered, "Now that is a question I could answer, Professor."

Leaning back into her seat, she nodded towards his, inviting him to sit. Aiming her wand to the fireplace, she boldly requested some tea from the house-elves for the kind Professor and herself.

A second later, a teapot appeared on the large table separating them. The spicy aroma of exquisite herbal tea, combined with the lit fire, filled the dreary dungeon room with an oddly warm glow.

Sitting back, she smiled widely—in a way that would make any man squirm.

"So, Professor," she practically purred with enthusiasm, "what would you like to know?"

* * *

**AN/: Hope you enjoyed that chapter. Please leave me a review to let me know what you thought. Thank you for reading! ~Kay**

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**********AN: Thank you to persevera, MadameGiry25, Audemed, FalconLux, XStrawberryDuckFeathersX, Adden, Arioneway, peace and joy, Susan M. M, Rosajean and LadyDunla for reviewing!**


	8. VII: The Meeting (ii)

**AN: I have to say, such a massive thank you to everyone who has reviewed! I truly appreciate the little influx of reviews I've received. It has helped me greatly with understanding how to improve my story and the feedback I've received has been fantastic. Again, thank you! ~Kay :)**

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**VII: The Meeting (ii)**

Severus was not an easy man to catch off-guard or unnerve. He had seen things—horrific things—in the twenty years of being a spy that others could only imagine in their worst nightmares. He had witnessed betrayal (actively taken part in it, even), befriended turn-coats and understood the weaknesses of the human mind.

In the end, Severus Snape was not a man who could be easily surprised.

But the enigma sitting in front of him, gently sipping her tea, had done just that. Surprised him.

He was unsure of what to believe.

The truth was, he had accepted that Hermione Granger was a spy, and an extremely capable one at that. There was no doubt about it. What he found hard to believe was that he believed it with such ease.

Of course, there had been a brief period of denial when Albus first told him about her. Then there had been anger which had quickly escalated to unadulterated rage. She had been a student! A mere child! And she was doing his job!

That's what hurt him the most, he supposed. That she was doing his job. In a way that he could not ignore, he had taken away her innocence from her.

If he had continued to be the spy for the Order, she would never have taken such drastic measures to fill the void in the Order's defence. That brutal knowledge hurt. Deep.

Severus, unlike what some believed, was an extremely passionate man. His composed demeanour was a result of being a master Occlumens and spy. But anyone who had witnessed his fury could tell you that the man was passionate.

Her becoming a Death Eater felt like a personal failure. One he simply could not ignore. Especially when she was sitting there, calmly sipping her tea.

In his logical mind, he knew he had made the right choice to end his work as a spy. He could either reveal his true allegiance and save a man he considered a father, or kill a brilliant wizard and become a spy with no master.

If he had carried out his orders, he would no longer have been a spy. No one in the order would have trusted him again: he would have no one to leak information to. All he would have achieved would have been the murder of the leader of the light, and truly becoming a Death Eater. Killing once again—falling prey to the Dark side.

Really, he had had no choice.

That did nothing to stop the guilt, however. He still felt he robbed her of her innocence.

He couldn't deny that he was curious though. Insanely so. How had the little chit managed it? How had a school-going girl, a Muggle-born witch nonetheless, wormed her way into the Dark Lord's lair? How had she survived the contempt of the Purebloods?

The task seemed impossible. However, she had overcome all obstacles and achieved it.

The same person who was sitting in front of him, leaning back in her chair with her legs crossed, calmly sipping her tea.

It was obvious that her relaxed persona unnerved him. It was frustrating to see her so calm when inside, he was bubbling away with anxiety and unasked questions.

It was why his tea sat in his hand, untouched and un-sipped.

Although its comforting smell did relax him.

"Where should I start, Professor?" Her voice interrupted his quiet brooding.

Miss Granger calmly set her half-finished tea on the stool beside her and gazed at him awaiting his answer.

He didn't know.

He wasn't sure how much he could hear, he should hear or he wanted to hear.

He didn't know how much more he could take in one night: a prodigal pupil is one thing, a tortured adult a whole another.

So, leaving the choice up to her, he simply repeated his original request, "How?"

Sighing, she rested her joined hands on her crossed knee, staring at the spot where her Dark Mark lay.

"The crux of it started mid last year—when Professor Dumbledore's life was at risk. I never told him because I didn't wish to burden him with the truth. On the side of the Light, we need his innate optimism. I couldn't do anything to destroy it. The horcrux he detained, the ring, had left Dark magic residues over his soul. His strength was waning, his darkened hand was evidence of his depleting magic. Everyone who knew secretly feared it was his end dawning upon him."

Her chocolate eyes—the eyes he was used to seeing shining with brilliance in class and warm compassion to her friends—were ablaze with determination. Lifting from her clasped hands, the fiery orbs looked directly at him.

"The light would be no where without him—we all knew that. He was the leader, the symbol of protection and safety for all of us. Harry was only a beacon of hope because of his powerful mentor. We would not have survived had he died.

"But you, of course, knew that." Her stare became more piercing, looking for confirmation of her beliefs. "His health was depleting. I know that you were doing everything you could to help him, searching every potion, even inventing your own. But nothing seemed to work. With every passing day, with every passing millimetre of his skin that was corroded by the Dark Magic, my hope was lost.

"Ron and Harry suspected; they had their fears," she said, her voice taking a softer edge, the characteristic fondness that she saved for the other members of the Gryffindor Trio shining through. "Harry was worried, but he didn't know. I don't think he wanted to know—he didn't want confirmation that his mentor was slowly dying.

"Discreetly, I researched his condition. I tried to understand what was happening, if there was any possible counter-curse, charm or potion that could undo the effects of the Dark Magic. But Horcruxes are incredibly rare, and extremely Dark Magic—books that I could find held nothing of value. When I could find nothing to help him survive, I decided it was time I prepared for the time when he died. It was nothing short of a miracle when Professor Lupin's old friends discovered a cure for the Headmaster's unique condition over the summer. He was almost too late," she whispered hauntingly.

Miss Granger hesitated then, no doubt ashamed to admit that she had embraced defeat when Albus was dying. With her eyes now downcast, she continued.

"If it was true, and we would soon lose him, we needed to prepare. I'm sure you are aware of the students in the Dumbledore's Army, Professor. I made sure that Harry taught them more advanced spells. We met regularly, practised ferociously in preparation for the war—although they didn't know the exact reason why.

"I simply had to do something more," she whispered, a steel tone overpowering her passion. "Nothing seemed enough. No matter how much they trained, I couldn't see any possible outcome where the Hogwarts students could take down the Dark Lord. Something had to be done. And someone had to do it."

Severus observed that Miss Granger had closed her eyes a moment too long for it to be considered simply blinking.

Raising her head, she met his eyes once again. He noticed that the fire was gone, replaced by a dark void.

He recognised that emotionless stare. He remembered seeing it in the mirror for 20 years.

"As his condition worsened, I grew more desperate, Professor. I wasn't sure what to do. I had prepared to be a warrior, but even a ruthless warrior on the battlefield is simply a pawn. We needed a strategy. And I suppose that could be identified as my moment of revelation. When fighting against a Dark army, we simply can't strive to remain pure. If we wanted to win the war, we had to be as shrewd, cunning and deceptive as the other side. As the Headmaster says, Professor, everything is for the greater good. And therefore, sometimes, no matter how much we hate it, sacrifices have to be made. I remembered your role in the war—how you saved us in the Department of Mysteries by sending the Order—and I couldn't help but notice the merits of such a position for the Light."

She leaned back in her seat, a strange smirk appearing on her lips.

"You know, Professor, I always thought of spying as an awfully Muggle affair. Growing up in Muggle London, you always hear young boys chanting that they want to be spies, like James Bond. They think it is such a glamorous, noble and 'cool' thing to do—risking your life on a daily basis. They think it's heroic." She chuckled humourlessly.

Severus couldn't help but agree with the sentiment.

"Oh, they really don't know anything. Even before I entered the fold, I was aware of the horrors I would no doubt be subjecting myself to."

Suddenly, her face transformed into an emotionless mask once again.

"Even before we lost you, Professor, I had been preparing for a similar venture. Granted, I hadn't initially aimed to get in so deep—merely work on the outside, with inferior Death Eaters, no one too close to the Dark Lord. I thought it would complement your position: whilst you leaked information from the Inner Circle, I could gather public opinion of the slaves, the soldiers that we would fight most against. When your position was revealed, I changed my strategy, and aimed to fill your position instead. It seemed far more useful."

She leaned forward then, and turned her head slightly to her right, seeming increasingly curious.

"Tell me, Professor, how was I known within the Inner Circle? How was I described to the Dark Lord?" she asked lightly, as if making idle chit-chat.

Her flippancy was unnerving.

He replied, "Every Death Eater who has ever had any encounter with Potter or his friends knew that you were the brains behind his success. The hare-brained arrogant 'savior' could achieve nothing otherwise. Every Death Eater child said the same; you were the insufferable chit who was always top of class. Lucius was particularly vocal to his associates about how a Muggle-born witch could beat his Pureblooded son."

A strange smile adorned her face for a second, before disappearing as if it never existed.

If he hadn't been used to reading signs and faces, he would have wondered if he had imagined it.

She looked at him expectantly. He couldn't help but wonder if he was missing something important, something extremely significant.

"Professor," she began, "weren't you a double agent?"

He nodded, unsure of where she was leading with her line of questioning.

"So, in return for spying for us, Professor Dumbledore also asked you to feed information to the Dark Lord, to gain his favour," she continued.

Again, all he could do was stare at her in confirmation.

What was he missing?

"Professor, what did you tell the Dark Lord about me?"

Confused he replied, "That you were an over-eager, insufferable chit, who was more intelligent than any Muggle-born deserved to be. That you were an over-ambitious, over-achieving thorn in my side who was the reason for Potter's successes."

That was when it hit him.

He had put her in their spotlight.

Smiling softly, almost apologetically, she asked, "Was I a target?"

He couldn't reply. He didn't want to.

Every one of the Death Eaters had heard of the young Muggle-born witch's brilliance and perseverance. Every one of them hated her for her abilities.

The Dark Lord was intrigued.

She wasn't just a target.

She was the target.

After Dumbledore and Harry himself, she was the one the Dark Lord wanted to annihilate. Or use.

Slowly, he nodded.

Ignoring his state (granting him a little dignity), she continued on with her tale.

"They wanted me out of the picture. It was a win-win scenario for them: rid the world of another Mudblood and take down Harry's strength from within. Not only would the death of his best friend shatter his precarious emotional state, the loss of my input and intelligence would render him careless. It would be an easy victory—luring him out would take no effort when he was blinded by his need for revenge. They were coming for me. I knew it. After finding out they had had a traitor within their fold for 20 years, they were desperate. They needed to do something; just like us, they had suffered a major could say I pre-empted their strike." She shrugged.

"You went to them…" he whispered into the air, afraid of her answer.

She nodded. "Willingly. I–" she hesitated momentarily "–contacted a Death Eater, offering my services. I offered them a respite. I would emulate your services—supply them with the Potions they required—and promise my loyalty. I provided them with a back-story and offer they couldn't refuse."

Several seconds passed.

It seemed that was as far as she was willing to go. Severus needed more.

"Miss Granger," he began in his scathingly deliberate manner, "if you sincerely believe that I am willing to except that as an explanation you must be far more insolent and dim-witted than I was led to believe."

The insufferable chit smiled at that.

Gracefully, she stood from her seat and stood next to the fire, just as he had a few minutes ago.

Her back still to him, she turned her face and looked at him, the roaring flames reflecting in her eyes. The light from the fire, that cast a warm glow on the room, highlighted her hair with barely noticeable streaks of red.

It was then he noticed that everything about her radiated danger.

Yes, she was powerful. Yes, she was intelligent. But right now, he couldn't help but feel the dangerous vibes she was casting.

No wonder she was a bloody good spy.

"Professor," she purred, wearing her mask stronger than ever before, "you, of all people, should know that a spy doesn't simply reveal his or her secrets when politely asked."

Looking back at the fire, she demanded, "I want to know what Headmaster Dumbledore expects of us."

Standing up he joined her in front of the fire, keen to keep a few inches away from her.

"You want to know what he asked of me?" he clarified, scrutinising her every move, hoping to steal a sign that would reveal anything about her.

To that, she nodded. She turned herself to face him, letting him know she expected his co-operation.

He sighed. Why is it that fate loved to torment his so?

"The Headmaster has asked," his voice sounded particularly spiteful then, "me to ensure that you have the best possible support that we can provide you.

"He wants for you to come to me after every revel, so that he can be assured you are safe and if necessary, provide you with any medical care required—which includes brewing Potions for your use. He has asked me to impart any 'wisdom' I may have due to my experience and teach you any skills you may not have learnt already."

Her mask cracked as fury invaded her angelic face, the fire in her eyes no longer a mere reflection of the flame, but a source within itself.

Keeping her voice dangerously low, she asked, "So he wants you to be my caregiver?"

Walking back to his sofa, he replied, making sure to keep his tone non-chalant, "Of course. The old man only wishes to act as the doting Grandfather to all his students. I'm afraid he has over-estimated my co-operation."

She followed him back, choosing to stand in front of her seat rather than sit down, as he had.

"If you don't mind me asking, Professor," she replied sarcastically, "what exactly do you mean?"

Leaning back, he relished the opportunity of seeing her back to her passionate, unchained self.

"Why, Miss Granger, you didn't expect me to actually listen to the old man, did you?" he asked mockingly.

"I'm afraid your previous loyalty and obedience towards the Headmaster might have led me to believe that, yes," she deadpanned, unafraid to bite back.

"Miss Granger, I'm sure even you are aware that I would no sooner die than coddle a Gryffindor," he remarked facetiously. "You see, Miss Granger, whilst I must obey the Headmaster in his requests, I do not intend to fulfil the manner in which he expects me to carry out his demands. I can assure you, I have no interest in becoming your own personal Madam Pomfrey, answering to your every need. If you took it upon yourself to create this role, you accepted the consequences. I do not see why I must mollycoddle you to make you feel better."

Standing once again from his seat in order to tower over her, he continued.

"Here is my proposal, Miss Granger. You will report to me after every revel, offering me any immediate information. If there are any serious injuries that need to be tend to, I will offer my aid and facilities to ensure that you may carry that out efficiently. Also, every week, we shall meet to train. Is that something you can agree to, Miss Granger?"

"Yes, Professor, I accept your terms," she replied defiantly. "However, I have a few conditions of my own."

Severus couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at her offer. She took that as a sign to continue.

"Whilst we are bound by the Headmaster's will, I will not be patronised. As you pointed out, I got myself into this, I have survived so far, I expect you to treat me accordingly. As a spy, you must appreciate my need for secrecy. Moreover, if I am uncomfortable with anything—and I mean anything, Professor—within our forced arrangement, you will respect that," she concluded her demands.

Severus' eyebrow remained raised.

Slowly, he stalked towards her, until she had to tilt her head to meet his glare.

"Miss Granger," he started, his voice cold, "your defiant attitude may work on your friends and might even have worked on the Headmaster, but you should know, it will not work with me. I am your answering authority as a spy. I'm sure you are aware that a spy with no master is no longer a spy. I am the one that will help you strategize, that will ensure that the light is being benefitted the most. With that relationship, I expect you to respect my position of responsibility to the Order."

Glaring at her, his face contorted into his mask—the Professor of the dungeons.

"We both work for the Order; we share the same fight. I must do everything in my power to assure that the Order is best prepared for the war to come. To do that, I must have your co-operation."

Before she could object, he continued, "I expect you to reveal information that is necessary, even if it betrays one of the secrets you hold so dear," he sneered, "when it is required. I need to know the situation to best act upon it, and for that I might require your honesty. Is that understood?" he demanded.

However, Miss Granger was not one that his intimidation would work on. He should have expected as much.

He could still see the rage—the passion—swirling in her eyes as she replied, "Professor, I understand your position and the importance of our situation, however, I refuse to be accepted as your inferior."

Glaring back into his dark eyes, she returned his challenge with all her might.

"If we are to achieve anything out of this situation, it demands our mutual co-operation and mutual respect. You see, Professor," she replied mockingly, "mutual would include the both of us. I agree to co-operate as long as I am assured you are willing to do the same."

Inside, Severus was smirking.

She was a force to be reckoned with.

Although he would never admit it, he looked forward to working with her, at least to know what she was entirely capable of.

"I agree to your terms, Miss Granger."

With that, she turned away, summoning her wand and belongings before heading for the door. Just before she could leave, he couldn't help but interrupt her.

"One last thing, Miss Granger," his voice carried across the room, the deliberate intonation prominent. "I expect to be provided with any relevant backstory of our current situation. That includes how you managed to worm yourself into the Dark Lord's fold. Your cryptic remarks simply won't do."

He watched as she turned her face towards him, a sly smile gracing her lips.

"I'll tell you what, Professor, why don't we work on a reward system. Every meeting, if all goes well, I'll let you see one memory regarding my spy work.

Her eyes shining playfully, she raised her hand. "Do we have a deal?"

Right then he knew, although he might enjoy interacting with her, he was going to have his hands full dealing with her intellect.

"That we do, Miss Granger."

Raising his hand to meet hers, he shook it tightly, sealing their words.

Looking quite pleased, Miss Granger exited through the dungeon doors, but not before charming herself to look quite dishevelled. He was impressed—it looked as if she truly had come from scrubbing several cauldrons with a toothbrush, just as it should.

Smirking, he raised his wand to add a soft touch of soot on her right cheek to complete her look. She glared at him half-heartedly and continued down the corridor.

Severus knew one thing; he might have just signed away his sanity.

She was not going to be an easy task.

Surprisingly, he found he was quite looking forward to it.

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**AN: Hope you enjoyed it! Please leave a review to let me know what you think. They are always appreciated and greatly useful :) Thank you for reading!**

**Important Note: I've received a few comments asking about how Dumbledore's hand was cured and all I can say right now is, it is not as simple as it seems at the moment. I have something important in mind, which will be revealed later, but for now, this is all I can say without ruining the progression of the story. ~Kay**

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******AN: Thank you to persevera, Audemed, FalconLux, XStrawberryDuckFeathersX, Adden, LadyDunla, Bloodredfirefly, peace and joyce ********and ********Guests (sorry I can't thank you personally) for reviewing this chapter! Thank you to everyone who favourited and followed this story! :)**


	9. VIII: The Trial

**IMPORTANT NOTE: So, I've decided that if I'm fortunate enough to reach the 100 reviews milestone, I will write a one-shot for one of my reviewers, in which they get the choice as to what they would like me to write. They could either offer me a plot-bunny, or choose what kind of one-shot they would like that is an off-shoot of this story. For example, more about Hermione's and Draco's past, how they became friends, or Severus' perspective when he was up on the tower, tasked with killing Dumbledore (my story version, where he lives), or if you prefer something darker, more details on the previous things Hermione has done for Voldemort, possibly a one-shot on how she first approached him. Stuff along the lines of that, as a thank you for being such great readers and offering me your support, time and feedback! I'll continue this for every 100th review after (if I'm lucky enough to reach them), so my 200th review, so on and so forth.**

**So again, thank you to all of you, my readers, for sticking with me and engaging with me. Hearing back from you all, and just knowing that you're reading, truly makes my day :) ~Kay**

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**VIII: The Trial**

Two days had passed quite uneventfully since Hermione's chat with Professor Snape. She had yet to hear back from Albus about how often they should meet considering Professor Snape had taken on the role of her answering associate. She hadn't heard from Professor Snape regarding when they should meet either.

Unfortunately, someone had made it quite clear when she was required.

As it was a Wednesday evening, she had been in her Head Girl chambers, waiting for any student who wanted to discuss anything. She had designated Wednesday evenings as her drop-in session for any concerned students, just as Draco had assigned his to be Sunday evenings. Hermione couldn't rely on the weekends in case her extra-curricular duties got in the way.

As it turned out, they didn't leave her over the weekdays either.

At half past eight (half an hour before the end of her session, she couldn't help but notice), the stabbing pain in her left arm interrupted her quiet musings.

She was being summoned to her master.

She had yet to receive her Death Eater robes and mask—in fact, she wasn't entirely sure she would. With a silent spell, she changed out of her Muggle outfit, opting for a vaguely elegant yet practical set of black dress robes. Transfiguring the previously red trim to silver (a colour that, whilst still being associated with Slytherin, did not scream it), she quickly adorned her heeled boots and draped her black cloak around her frame. After charming her hair into a neat bun, ignoring the few errant curls that had escaped, she was ready to meet the Dark Lord.

She knew today was a test. The Inner Circle would no doubt be present for her first appearance as a Death Eater. She had to be poised, ready to prove her worth as a warrior, whilst remaining graceful and elegant, staying true to the femininity the Death Eaters held in high regards. All of this had to be achieved without being overbearing, a subtle reminder that she was aware of her inferior heritage and embraced her submissive place within the Dark Lord's followers.

She was ready for it.

Leaving a note for Draco on his desk explaining that she had been "called unexpectedly" and one on the door apologising that she had to leave early, she began her trek to the Forbidden Forest. Before leaving the Castle, she Disillusioned herself, casting a silent _Silencio_ for added measure, and sprinted to her Apparition point. Upon reaching the clearing, she hesitated.

She wasn't entirely sure how to proceed.

Before, when she had not been accepted as a Death Eater by the Dark Lord, she had not been allowed her wand unless specifically ordered to bring it—when they had physical entertainment in mind. Now, she was unsure if she would overstep her bounds as a Mudblood by presumptuously brandishing her wand.

She decided to leave it in the tree once again. If nothing else, the Dark Lord would be pleased with her obedience and submission.

She checked through her mental walls one last time, ensuring that her recent conversations were hidden deep within. Tonight, there would be no mistakes, no musings, no thoughts that the Dark Lord could exploit.

Taking a deep breath, she pressed the first two fingers of her right hand firmly on her Dark Mark, hissing when the inflamed wound protested in return.

She braced herself as she landed heavily on the ground, falling to one knee with the impact of the rough landing. She had suspected that travelling through the Dark Mark would feel similar to a Portkey; she hadn't realised how strong the similarity would be until she had felt the familiar feeling of being compressed within herself.

In the end though, she ought to thank the rough landing, for she had landed directly in front of the Dark Lord himself.

After all, kneeling before him was always a good idea. The fluidity of her motion should have pleased him at least slightly.

Eyes downcast, she stared at the pristine stone floor as she was used to doing. She could recognise the immaculate flooring, the expensive, glittering tiles, anywhere.

She had been summoned to Malfoy Manor.

She suspected she had been invited to a meeting exclusive to Inner Circle members. Whilst most would revel in the privilege, she was suspicious.

She was not here to dine with the Purebloods. The best she could hope for was an official introduction. The worst at this point, she supposed, was entertainment.

Touching her head to her knee for good measure, she waited for her Dark Lord to speak.

It wasn't long till his sibilant, high-pitched voice echoed through the room.

"My Mudblood," he hissed, amused, "you are awfully quiet this evening. Is there anything on your mind?"

Bowing her head, as if in respect, she replied, "My Lord had not allowed me to speak."

_Let the grovelling begin,_ she thought sardonically.

His cold chuckle filled the room, adding to the eerie atmosphere as the disconcerting sound reverberated and echoed.

"Your submission pleases me, Mudblood," he continued, his quiet voice resonating off the surrounding walls. "You may rise. We have much to discuss."

Gracefully, she stood from her position at his feet, making sure to keep her head bowed as she awaited further instructions.

Hermione knew not to fall into a trap—never act on your own accord—as you should always wait for someone else to command you. That's how the filthy Mudblood, the inferior race, was expected to act in the company of its superiors.

"Tonight, you stand in the middle of my Inner Circle, my Mudblood," the Dark Lord taunted, his words dripping with the pleasure he experienced, watching her struggle.

"Tonight, my loyal followers have been informed of your…" he stopped deliberately, leaving a dramatic pause to add to her discomfort, "… proposal."

"Take your place within the circle, my Mudblood, and await your fate," he ordered.

Keeping her head low, she retreated, walking backwards, until she stood in the middle of the circle of masked Death Eaters, directly below the beautifully intricate chandelier.

Now that was a death trap if she had ever seen one.

Whilst she maintained her calm demeanour, internally, she was checking through all the possible escape routes if things took a turn for the worse.

The door out of the drawing room was a few metres behind her, however, some of the most dangerous Death Eaters stood in her path—not to mention the Dark Lord would have a clean, straight strike to her back.

There were windows to the right that were blocked by another few Death Eaters, but she could probably take them by surprise. However, they looked to be charmed against breaking. Not to mention the incredibly strong blood wards that radiated directly outside them. Even if she got through the windows, the blood wards that Mr Malfoy would activate would trap her.

Obviously, there were Anti-Disapparation wards bound by blood surrounding the manor. She would need several hours, if not days, to break through those.

Her Dark Mark worked on a one-way basis. She had yet to try to find a way to reverse the connection, and even so, she was certain she would be unsuccessful.

Although her emergency Portkey to Hogwarts was tucked in her shoe, in a position for quick access, she knew the blood wards could counter-act the effects.

The fireplace to her right seemed to be Floo functional. However, she also noticed the intricate runes that were carved into the mantelpiece.

Unfortunately, nothing in this dark haven of Pureblood supremacy was devoid of blood protections.

Not only was there no Floo powder on the mantelpiece, the one she had hidden in a pouch on her thigh strap would not work.

For all intents and purposes, she was stuck.

Unless…

The fireplace chimney led up to the roof.

Wizards—unlike Muggles—often get complacent with security. For example, when placing a ward, they concentrate on boundaries—they want to prevent anyone from running away.

She was willing to bet her life they never thought of altitude.

On the inside, she was smirking.

She had found an escape route: a great one for future use.

She could only hope she didn't need to use it today.

"Lucius," the Dark Lord called. "Step forward."

The masked figure to her right moved further into the circle, closer to her. Placing his regal walking cane, adorned with a hauntingly elegant silver snake-piece, in front of him, he bowed deeply, waiting a few seconds before rising again.

"Since our Mudblood joined us," the Dark Lord continued, "you, Lucius, have been the one keeping an eye on her, as you were the one to bring her to our attention."

Rising from his throne, he stalked towards them, standing at the head of the circle, Nagini at his tail.

She always made Hermione uneasy.

His quiet hiss changed into a far more predatory tone, the snake-like quality of his voice increasing in prominence. "It only seems fair to me, Lucius, that you be the one to share your insight with the rest of us.

"So, tell us, Lucius, what do you think of our Mudblood's proposal? Do you have any reason to question her loyalty?"

A wave of shifting followed his words: the rest of the Inner Circle were eager to have their say. The fidgeting foots, clenching fists and straighter stances all betrayed their thoughts: they didn't want to be curbed.

Like a hawk circling its prey, Lucius circled Hermione, each tap of his cane amplifying in the silence, his cold grey eyes piercing through.

Lightly grazing his cane across her left arm, he came to a stop in front of her, scrutinising her stance.

His cold, yet always collected, voice joined the symphony of darkness that played across the room. "It is with deep regret, My Lord, that I cannot refute her promise. The past few months, I have observed and analysed her every move. Unfortunately, I cannot claim to find lies where they do not exist."

Continuing his slow circling, he stalked Hermione, taking each step deliberately. Every few steps, he would inch closer, to seemingly intimidate her.

He was enjoying this far too much for her liking.

"Miss Granger has been loyal. Unfortunately, she has also been very," he hesitated, as if finding great difficulty in continuing, "resourceful. Ever since she first offered herself, I have researched her uncharacteristic turn-coat behaviour thoroughly. She has always been ambitious, an over-achiever that prides her intelligence and thirst for knowledge above all else.

"My son confirmed to me that she would always aim for the highest marks, regardless of whom she was working with, Slytherin or not. Since she was a young chit, I have noticed her passion."

Having finished his circle, he stepped closer to the Dark Lord.

"I'm afraid her story checks out, My Lord," he declared, his voice bathed in regret. "According to all Slytherins, the foolish boy and his blood-traitor sidekick never valued her intelligence. Although she is the Gryffindor Princess," he sneered the title, "her thirst for knowledge, her incessant search for the next level, makes her a social pariah.

"The Slytherins have noticed her change, My Lord. Last year, Draco caught her reading a Dark Arts book from the Restricted Section. Nott, Goyle and Crabbe witnessed a fight amongst the impudent trio regarding her distracted behaviour. Parkinson saw her withdrawing blood in the Girls' toilets and placing it in an enchanted Dark vial. Similar to all ambitious individuals, My Lord, the Mudblood has become truly enamoured by the endless possibilities that the Dark Arts provide. I am assured of that."

With a final bow, he returned to his position in the circle, the emerald eyes of his cane shining against its dark surroundings.

"Thank you, Lucius," The Dark Lord said as Nagini circle around his feet. "That was truly… insightful."

Raising his arms, he addressed the rest of the circle, "My loyal servants, in the past few months, each and all of you have seen and encountered the Mudblood slave. As you know, she came seeking the power of the Dark Arts, in exchange promising her services and loyalty.

"Five days ago, my servants, on Friday night, the Mudblood took my mark, promising to bring us the traitor and the boy. She has offered her services as a spy for her Lord. My Mudblood seeks revenge, both for herself and her Lord. I have decided to allow her," he announced.

A moment of silence passed.

And that is when the dam broke.

Each and every one of the Inner Circle (except Lucius and Narcissa) shifted, ready to protest.

It was Bellatrix, confident of her favour with the Dark Lord, who voiced their collective concern.

"But, My Lord," she screeched, "she is but a Mudblood! How can we trust her?!"

Devil red eyes met her dark stare, glaring at her interruption. Flinching instantly, she apologised, grovelling for her insolence.

It was Rabastan who spoke next. "My Lord," he offered calmly, "I apologise for speaking against your judgement, but I believe my sister-in-law was asking to put the Mudblood through a test, to ensure her loyalty lies with us."

Murmurs of agreement shot through the circle, no one wanting to outright question their Lord's decision, but increasingly desperate to keep the Mudblood as far away from them as possible.

"My servants," the Dark Lord said, his voice eerily calm, "I am disappointed by your disregard for your Lord's authority."

His red eyes glinting with sick fascination, he watched as everyone in the room clutched their left arm, seizing with the torturous pain that shot up their arm.

"You will do well to remember your manners next time, Bellatrix," he continued, glaring daggers into her pale form.

Falling to her knees, she apologised profusely, declaring her remorse and undying loyalty towards her master.

Satisfied, he turned to Rabastan, who visibly cowered under his stare.

"Although I am embittered by your behaviour, my servant, I see the merits of your suggestion."

A silent _Crucio_shot from the tips of his wand, the characteristic red spell hitting Rabastan directly, who promptly fell to the ground, twitching with pain. The torture lasted only a few seconds, a reward, no doubt, for his suggestion.

The lavish dining rooms, flooded with various ornamentals had never felt darker, with no perceivable difference remaining between the luxurious chambers and the suffocating dungeons. All warmth, any sense of humanity, had been replaced by the cold presence of Dark Magic.

All this while, Hermione had remained still, head bowed, eyes downcast, not meeting the stare of the maniacal wizard in front of her.

Silence fell upon the circle.

The quite rustle of their master's robes rang through the chamber as he flowed towards Hermione.

"Mudblood!" raged the Dark Lord. "Your loyalty is questioned by my most loyal followers."

The odd silence that followed suggested that she was expected to speak.

"If I may respond, my Lord," Hermione requested quietly, keen to seem docile.

A flick of his hand allowed her to continue.

"I am not surprised that our fiercest warriors are still sceptical. My past makes them suspicious, and as they should be, for they only fear for our joint aim."

Kneeling on one knee once again, she fell in front of the evil wizard. "I will do what they ask, my Lord, to prove my allegiance. I only hope that one day they shall be reassured that I have truly found the path I seek by promising you my undying loyalty. My Lord, I promise I will prove my worth to justify your kindness in allowing a Mudblood to join your fight."

With that, she awaited his reply.

A few tense seconds passed. The circle grew restless—the fidgeting began once more as they anxiously awaited the verdict.

"Look up, my Mudblood," the Dark Lord ordered.

She had known this would be coming—the grand finale. The moment of truth that would erase all doubt from his mind and the others.

With one last check through her hidden cages, she took a deep breath, bravely meeting the hauntingly red eyes of Lord Voldemort.

There was no warning.

The moment their eyes met, the assault began, ripping through her mind with no compassion. Whilst Dumbledore mastery of Legilimency lay in subtlety (the majority of his targets never even realising that someone had shifted through their minds), the Dark Lord was brutal. He pierced through his victims' defences in the most painful way possible until their barricades ruptured, revealing every deep, dark little secret.

And that was where the difficulty lay.

Sustaining mental barriers to counter his attacks was an impossible task in itself.

Attempting to place defences that he did not detect during his rampage was a whole another level of crazy.

Any physical strength that Hermione had previously sustained fell through as her master savagely raked through every memory of hers. Her back caved in her, her body losing the fight against gravity, as she struggled to use her arms to hold herself upright.

Her physical barriers guarding the entrance of her mind feel through in seconds.

Just as he would expect. Just as she had designed them.

The Dark Lord was not a gullible man—Hermione was well aware of that. She could only speculate his ulterior motive in welcoming her into his fold. She knew, however, that he would not take this risk until he was absolutely certain he had correctly manipulated her naïve mind.

That the Dark Arts had succeeded once again.

Silently, she allowed him to dig through her mind, scrutinise all her memories, and uncover everything he could find.

It was where her hopes lay: a true spy plays the man, not the game.

She had analysed the Dark Lord to the best of her ability. Everything had been factored in: his actions, his emotions, his past, and his motivations.

She knew the man inside out—just as he hoped to know her.

A master Occlumens could protect their mind against the Dark Lord for a significant amount of time, until their physical exhaustion betrayed their mental capacity.

A master spy aimed to never let the Dark Lord even realise they were Occluding him.

It was just another instance when Hermione had learnt from the Leader of the Light, Albus Dumbledore, rather than fallen under the sweet seduction of the promises of power of the Dark Arts.

As she had found through her training, subtlety was the key.

Albus was right—thank Merlin for that.

It was an excruciating process, waiting for the Dark Lord to finish tearing through her memories, simply hoping that her defences worked. Every meeting, he would scrutinise her memories, her thoughts, dwelling as deep into her mind as he could dare without exhausting her for her desired purpose.

Today, Lord Voldemort wanted to be thorough.

She felt him in her mind—the invading species—inspecting every little detail of every memory he found. The tastes, the scents, the emotions—anything that could lead  
him to question the legitimacy of her actions. He played closer attention to more recent memories—ones he hadn't already seen before—scrutinising them for the tiniest imperfections that would betray any subterfuge.

It was a long, arduous process.

Every memory—even those he had seen on his previous rampages through her mind—was examined for any loopholes and any discrepancies. Any spark he found, even a hint of a feeling or dream, he drilled through, uncovering the deeper memories that lay beneath.

She wouldn't hesitate to admit it: Hermione was afraid. She was terrified.

Everything depended on this moment. The Dark Lord had never spent so long, worked with such determination, on her mind before. He uncovered every memory, even those from her childhood which would seem irrelevant, to search for any lies or deceit.

Several minutes passed; she lay at her master's feet as he ruthlessly turned her mind inside out.

Around them, the Inner Circle watched with morbid fascination. It was the moment of truth—the moment that determined whether the insolent Mudblood had truly fallen for the Dark Arts.

Inside they prayed it wasn't true—that minutes later, their Lord would bellow out the Killing Curse, furious at the betrayal.

Only one of his servants agreed with the Dark Lord's assessment.

Half an hour had passed since the event began. The Mudblood's strength was visibly waning—her hands could no longer support her. She had fallen to the floor, still holding their master's gaze, a pool of filth lying where she belonged.

It ended as abruptly as it had started.

With no warning, their master broke his connection with the slave, turning around with a sweep of his cloak, and returned to his throne with a threatening smile on his face.

It was over.

Hermione had won.

The Dark Lord simply did not know it.

With a gasp, she lifted herself off the floor, precariously resuming her kneeling position in front of the throne. Her frail hands supported her weight, balancing her body weight to prevent herself from falling to one side.

His sibilant, high-pitched voice filled the room once again.

"You have pleased me, my Mudblood," he hissed, his pleasure apparent. "I recognise your loyalty."

Raising his voice, he declared, "My faithful servants, let it be known to our young Death Eaters that we have accepted a new slave into our fold. She embarks upon a mission to bring down the traitor. Let her be a symbol of our future: a time when Mudbloods recognise their inferiority, gaining fulfilment from offering their services to their Death Eater masters willingly.

Rising from his throne, the Dark Lord stood above his servants, announcing their future with raised arms.

"She will be our tool: our eyes and ears into the Light. Just imagine the look on Dumbledore's face as he realises his own prodigal student was the one to bring him and his little boy down! That he was betrayed by the very Mudbloods he had sworn to protect."

The picture he painted seemed perfect. Some of the circle roared in excitement; others clapped.

A select few remained silent.

His beloved lieutenant, Bellatrix, was one of them.

"You may stand, my Mudblood," the Dark Lord purred at Hermione, sending shivers of disgust down her exhausted form.

Slowly, she stood, raising her eyes to meet her the rubies that were dancing with excitement, envisioning the future to come.

"From today, Mudblood, you answer to the Circle as well as your Lord. You are no longer needed as our Potions slave—you will fulfil your promise. You will infiltrate Hogwarts and the Light from within.

Deliberately, he laid his eyes upon every single member of the circle.

"However, it would seem that my most trusted followers are not entirely happy with your induction. My Mudblood, as is the tradition, you must attend your first revel. It is there that you will prove to them your loyalty to the Dark Arts.

Claiming his throne once again, he directed his gaze to one of his most loyal servants.

"Lucius," he called. "Come! Join our Mudblood."

Removing his mask once again as he bowed to his master, Lucius walked to his place in front of the Dark Lord, standing next to their newly inducted member.

"She will be your charge, Lucius. As you brought her to us, she will be your responsibility."

Addressing Hermione, he ordered, "Mudblood, you will answer to him. Any information, any insight, you must owl to him immediately."

Raising his voice once more, in a manner that demanded everyone's attention, he said, "You all shall assist Lucius in training her. You will give her the insight she sought: teach her the ways of the Dark. Make her our Mudblood spy—our slave who will bring down Harry Potter from the very within!"

The rumbling that followed filled Hermione with unease. It was Bellatrix' cacophonous laugh that unnerved her the most.

The Inner Circle were going to enjoy breaking her in.

"She is yours now, Lucius. Train her well."

"Yes, my Lord," he replied smoothly with a final bow.

"You may return, Mudblood. Do not make me regret my graciousness."

And that was it. She was dismissed.

She was a Death Eater. Even the Inner Circle knew that now.

It was the final nail on her coffin.

Walking towards the door, Lucius drawled, "Come now, Miss Granger. You must return to Hogwarts to prevent any suspicion."

Bowing low and expressing her gratitude for her Lord's kindness, she followed him out of the drawing room.

They walked silently—with her following his lead, trying to ignore her physical exhaustion—until he had led her to the edge of his driveway. She couldn't help but notice the absence of the majestic white peacocks that once graced the gardens. No doubt they were scared away from the presence of the intense Dark Magic that followed their Dark Lord.

They stopped in front of the wrought-iron gates.

It was then that Lucius Malfoy finally turned around to acknowledge her presence.

"Well, Miss Granger, I believe a congratulations is in order for your successful induction into the Death Eaters," he offered politely, always the composed, aristocratic host.

"Thank you, Mr Malfoy," she replied, waiting for him to finally get to the heart of the issue.

"I'm assuming my son is already aware of your induction."

"He is, Mr Malfoy," she stated. "He's, after all, my roommate. Not to mention that, until recently, he was also my only method of communicating with you or the Dark Lord."

"Very well, Miss Granger. You are to arrive at the Manor for your training sessions. I will inform you of the time you must arrive on the day before. As it is my duty, I will be leading them personally," he explained.

"Thank you for your generosity, Mr Malfoy." She leaned against the gates inconspicuously, using their solid structure as support to keep her standing upright. If Mr Malfoy noticed her lethargic and shattered state, he did not comment.

"You are to use Draco's owl to contact me with any information. I shall do the same," he added.

"It's noted, Mr Malfoy."

An awkward silence, a symbol of all the unsaid words, descended upon the unlikely pair.

Clearing his throat, Lucius breached the topic that needed discussing. "The Dark Lord was surprised when I first informed him of your intentions to join us."

She nodded in response: she had guessed as much.

"He had believed you would've waited till your graduation before even considering it—much like Draco and the others," he expanded.

Curious, she asked, "Did he consult you before agreeing to meet with me?"

Mr Malfoy nodded, his silky blonde hair moving in synchronisation with his head.

"If I may, could I enquire as to what he asked of you?" she asked carefully.

With a sigh, he replied, "The Dark Lord wished to know if I believed you capable of following through with your claims, since I have witnessed your magical capabilities the most within the Inner Circle.

Reading between the lines, Hermione couldn't help but feel a little grateful toward the man in front of her. After all, he had played an important part in helping her achieve her goal.

He simply did not know her goal was to fight for the Light.

"Thank you, Mr Malfoy," she said, bowing her head in respect.

"I merely did what was asked of me, Miss Granger," he replied callously, although she could tell he didn't mean it entirely. "Do not delude yourself into believing I did you a favour. I simply did what was best for the Dark Lord." Quickly, eager to change the topic, he continued, "You will be summoned for the revel. I would suggest you bring your wand this time."

"Of course, Mr Malfoy."

"You may leave, Miss Granger," he dismissed.

Smiling slightly, she turned, stepping through the gate as they dissolve into smoke around her. She wondered if it was merely a coincidence that Mr Malfoy and Professor Snape were quite alike, or if they were even aware of the fact. From what she was aware, they had been acquaintances, possibly even friends, before Professor Snape's true allegiance was revealed.

With a wave of her hand, she Apparated back to her clearing, feeling immensely satisfied. She couldn't help but feel a little grateful that it was the first time she had returned to her clearing free from a physical assault or torture.

That was until she remembered she had Professor Snape to answer to.

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**AN: Thank you for reading. Hope you enjoyed this chapter! Please leave me a review if you have a few moments to spare! Thank you! ~Kay**

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******AN: Thank you to XStrawberryDuckFeathersX, Audemed, feminist4ever, FalconLux, Brooklyn, peace and joyce and a guest for their reviews. Thank you to everyone who favourited and followed :)**


	10. IX: The Mind

**IX: The Mind**

They say that time stands still in moments of great happiness and despair. Hermione couldn't help but agree.

The trek back to the Castle seemed immensely long, her feet almost refusing to comply with the orders she issued. Every few minutes, she would reconsider, her mind alternating between hiding out in her room and roaming freely through the Forest. She hadn't done that in a while.

She missed it—surrendering to the wild animal within, simply relishing in the feel of the wind flowing past her body. With the way things were going, she needed that moment of freedom.

The Forest called to her.

Against all instincts, she forged her way to the Castle, casting the routine spells to slip through the wards unnoticed. It was after curfew after all. Using her usual secret entrance through the Dungeons to sneak in, she decided to walk in the opposite direction to the Potions Master's chambers.

Professor Snape could wait.

Right now, she needed a shower. She always did after being in the presence of the megalomaniac. She needed to make sure Draco rested.

And maybe, just maybe, a tiny part of her simply needed a friendly cup of tea.

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As she had expected, Draco had stayed up for her, potions at hand, waiting for her to enter through the common room doors. His soft smile as he noticed she didn't require a glamour warmed her heart.

She didn't know what she would do without him. He had grown to become her best friend, her brother in every way but blood. Even Harry and Ron didn't understand her as well as he did.

Walking heavily to the couch, she sat down beside him, allowing her physical exhaustion to creep in for a few moments of vulnerability.

"What potions do you need today, Granger?" Draco inquired, his voice quiet and compassionate.

Opening her eyes, she smiled sleepily at him. "Just a mild Stimulating Potion tonight, Draco. I'm only a little tired; the power-hungry freak finally ripped through my brain. No physical damage."

His little chuckle lifted her spirits considerably.

This was their coping mechanism. Ever so sophisticated and complex: calling the Dark Lord names to make light of the situation, to rebel against the intimidation and terror the powerful evil wizard hoped to wreck.

"I'm impressed, Granger," he replied lightly. "Surviving a Legilimency attack from old tall, dark and crazy. Well done." He nodded sagely before cracking, flashing her a relieved smile.

They laughed together, holding on to the positives rather than drowning in the despair that surrounded them.

Still chuckling, he rose from the couch, making his way over to the counter to make her a cup of tea. Within seconds, the kettle was boiling, the tea leaves were placed securely in the tea pot, and the sugar was set out, waiting to be used. As the familiar whistle of the steaming water filled their home with warmth, he carefully poured the water into the tea pot, preparing the drink with habitual ease. Once it was strained and emptied into two cups, he added a generous portion of milk to hers, topping it off with her favoured two spoons of sugar.

As always, she watched him shake his head disapprovingly, grumbling about her preferred tea choice. Ever since they had shared a room, she has noticed his immovable adoration for a cup of tea every morning, black, with no milk or sugar whatsoever, prepared by hand.

He could have prepared the tea with magic, he could have summoned some from the kitchen, he could have even asked a house-elf - most likely Dobby - to make them some.

But every time, he would get up and go out of his way to make her tea with his own bare hands. The only magic used was to light a fire under the kettle. Every day, he would pour her some warm, comforting and delicious tea, that he took the time to prepare himself.

Although neither of them ever said anything about it - it was simply never mentioned in conversation, an action too pure to be marred with words, excuses and explanations - they knew it was his way of accepting her, of appreciating her. The fact that he went through Muggle actions, which required far more time and energy - actions considered degrading in Pureblood society for a wizard - showed how much he cared for her and how much she meant to him.

He still didn't understand her preference for a sweeter, creamier tasting tea though.

A few moments later, he returned, carrying a cup in each hand. "Seriously though, Hermione. I'm glad you came back alive tonight. Merlin knows it's pretty much impossible to fool the Dark Lord," he said, setting her cup, which looked far more enticing to her eyes, in front of her.

As concern filled his grey eyes, he asked softly, "Are you sure you don't need anything else? I can only imagine how exhausted you must be after everything. You must be drained."

"I'm okay, Draco," she reassured him. "Honestly, I'm fine. You and I both know I've been through worse. Besides, all I need is a decent rest and I'll be up and about in no time."

Nodding, he rose from the couch, bringing her her potion.

"Must you go to see Professor Snape tonight? Surely he would be willing to wait till tomorrow. It's half past ten after all!"

"I don't want to take the chance, Draco. Besides," she joked, "I live to be a nuisance to him. Don't steal my fun! You know how much I've been dying to pester him late at night." With that, she downed her potion swiftly, washing down the bitter after-taste with her tea.

"I'm going to take a shower before I head out," she declared. "You-" she looked pointedly at him "-need to rest. I better hear you snoring by the time I'm out of that bathroom," she scolded playfully.

"Yes, mother," he replied, rolling his eyes as he walked to his room. "Goodnight, Granger," he called from the edge of his door. "You know the drill: wake me if you need me."

Summoning her clothes with her hand, she replied back, "Night, Draco. Sleep well."

She waited till she heard his bedroom door click shut before entering the luxurious Heads' bathroom.

Although they had access to the Prefects' bathroom whenever they needed it, Hermione and Draco had found they never sought to use it.

After all, their private bathroom had everything they could possible ask for.

The beautiful white marble tiles that covered the floor and walls always soothed Hermione. The lavish bath tub was enough to fit a fair few people comfortably—not that either of them had tested that theory—which provided more than enough room for her to lay down and relax. Similar to the Prefects' bath, you had an array of scents to choose from, depending on how you were feeling. Hermione had found that she most preferred infusing the elder flower and sandalwood scents. They provided an odd sense of comfort, of protection, an opportunity to forget about the war raging outside for just a few minutes.

However, tonight was not the time for petty comforts.

Stepping into the exceptionally large shower cubicle—honestly, you would think they were encouraging extra-curricular mingling of the Head Students!—Hermione turned the water as hot as her skin could bear.

Next, she proceeded with her ritualistic scrubbing. Using her loofah, she scoured her skin clean, imagining that somehow the thorough cleaning would cleanse her soul of the horrors she faced. She scrubbed and scrubbed, until her flushed skin was rubbed red, protesting under the harsh treatment. Gradually, she slowed her frantic motions, ignoring the new aches she had caused. Gently washing her hair, she simply stood under the warm water for a few minutes, allowing the forceful spray to massage her aching muscles.

She was ready.

Grabbing her towel, she dried herself, leaving her hair to dry naturally. She made sure to brush it through once to prevent it from becoming the enlarged mane she was known for in her younger years.

Having hair in your eyes was not a recommendation when duelling.

Grabbing whatever she could find (which turned out to be her casual Muggle attire), she stepped out of the bathroom, ready to face Professor Snape. Quickly checking on Draco—who was indeed snoring—she quietly made her way out of their chambers, making sure to cast her routine spells that kept her hidden.

She had a surly professor to wake up.

* * *

If, like Professor Dumbledore, you believed that a person's actions defined who they were, you would think that Hermione Granger was a fierce, fearless warrior.

Well, that same fierce, fearless warrior was frantically avoiding knocking on her Potions Master's door, cowering away from her inevitable meeting.

There was so much to be discussed; she knew it was important for her to step into that room. Everything she did, she did for Harry, for the Order, for the future of the Wizarding world so that children were not raised as Draco was. She did for them - the nameless faces that were lost in this bloody war. The haunting eyes that remained unknown, never truly mourned.

It would be impossible to be a spy without anyone to spy for.

Someone needed to receive that information. A part of her job was to co-operate with someone!

She couldn't hide from the world any longer. She was who she was; she became what she'd become for her loved ones, to protect the ones that deserved her unwavering loyalty.

Taking a deep breath, she waved her wand, casting a silent _Alohomora_ to alert the wards, knowing that this would raise the alarms inside his room.

With that, she waited.

Around five minutes later, the door flew open, revealing the distorted face of a furious professor. His dark eyes flashed with anger, his scowl even more pronounced as he saw no one at his door. With his wand poised, he looked just about ready to murder anyone in the most brutal manner. His penetrating eyes were moving swiftly from side to side, hoping to track the assailant that had raised his alarms.

What had she gotten herself into now?

Cautious of any stray eyes (including the nosy portraits), she cast a Muffliato Charm around Professor Snape and herself.

"Professor," she whispered unnecessarily, "I apologise for disturbing your evening. It's me, Hermione."

With hawk-like precision, his eyes landed at the exact spot where she was standing, still invisible.

"Miss Granger," he responded, his voice thick with disdain. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"If I may come in, Professor?" she requested, eager to get away from the corridors and the prying eyes that may find them.

Grandly, he stepped to one side, mockingly holding out one arm in invitation. "Of course, Miss Granger," he replied sarcastically. "How rude of me to not invite one of my students into my private chambers?"

Ignoring his petty jibe, she quickly entered the room, waiting till he had shut the doors before removing her Disillusionment Charm and cancelling the Silencing Charm on her shoes.

It was upon noticing Professor Snape's immaculate attire that Hermione felt self-aware of her own casual, not to mention Muggle, outfit. She couldn't help but wonder if he had been working late, given that he was still wearing his flowing black robes.

Looking around, she noticed that his chambers were magically linked to his office and the Potions classroom. Unlike the rest of the dungeon, his room was quite warm. She was surprised at how much the layout of his lounge appeared to resemble the student common rooms. It would seem that the Castle had little to no imagination. However, if one was looking, it was easy to spot how the professor's personal touch shone through the room.

The entire back wall was covered with bookcases; some of his favourites, she speculated. Shelves upon shelves of tomes overflowed with spines creased from frequent use, a sign, no doubt, of an academic's appreciation for their resources: it was her fantasy come true. A single leather recliner that appeared to be extremely comfortable was placed in front of them, evidently his preferred reading position.

A few sofas were placed in the middle of the room to welcome any guests, facing the ornate stone fireplace to their left, although they didn't seem overly used. A dark coffee table was placed in the centre of the arrangement, dividing the seats into two separate halves.

All in all, it was a comfortable, homely room—unlike anything one would expect of their Potions professor.

One eyebrow raised high at her prying, the Potions Master spoke, "Well, Miss Granger, now that you are done perusing my private chambers, was there a reason for your presence?"

Stopping her ministrations, she turned to face him, ignoring his remark about her nosiness. "Indeed there was, Professor. I'm afraid I was simply following your orders."

She watched as his facetious mask disappeared, his expression turning sombre in an instant.

"You were summoned," he stated.

Hermione nodded in confirmation.

"Was it a revel?" he inquired, his voice betraying no emotion.

She recognised that tone; it was the same tone she used when she informed Draco of any of her spy work. It was a spy's business tone.

"Fortunately, I was blessed with a few days prior notice before being thrown into a revel. I'm afraid it was more of a meet and greet event this time," she replied crudely.

He simply nodded in response.

"Follow me, Miss Granger," he said, walking towards the door that led to his office. "It would appear there is a lot for us to talk about."

As she stepped into his office, Hermione couldn't help but notice the highly contrasting feel between the two rooms. It wasn't until she had seen his warm quarters that she noticed the stark differences between the two. Everything, from the ominuous lighting and glowing cauldrons, to the grotesque ingredients and unusually shiny knives screamed intimidation. It was outlandishly unwelcoming, as if designed for the sole purpose of frightening his "dunderheaded" students.

She wouldn't put it past him.

He took his seat behind his large desk, waving to the chair before him in invitation.

Shivering as she sat down, Hermione lit the fireplace with a silent _Incendio._ She regretted not wearing her cloak. Professor Snape, however, looked perfectly toasty.

Perhaps there was some benefit in trapping yourself within those layers.

Leaning his elbows on his desk, Professor Snape let his critical eyes scrutinise her seated form, no doubt looking for signs of any injury. It was a single worded commanded that fell from his lips next. "Continue."

Taking that as an invitation to recite her tale, Hermione settled further into her chair, getting comfortable for what was bound to be a long catch up session. Instead of looking at the professor as she spoke to him, she chose to direct her attention directly behind him, making a note of the several Potions ingredients that were placed behind his desk.

"I wasn't entirely lying when I said I was invited to a meet and great session, Professor," she started. "Today, I was presented to the Inner Circle as a newly inducted Death Eater."

Although he maintained his poker-face with practised perfection, she noticed the twitch in his right little finger that rested in front of her.

"I wasn't under the impression that the Dark Lord's regime had turned into a democracy," he interrupted precisely.

"It hasn't, Professor. However, with your recent betrayal, the Dark Lord has decided to keep a closer eye on all his most trusted members." She grinned. "I believe you've made him quite a paranoid wizard."

To this, he curled his lips to one side in an overly self-satisfied smirk.

"Any way, it was not a vote. No one was given the opportunity to say 'aye' or 'nay'. It was a meeting to announce my inclusion into the lower circle and explain my proposal. Unsurprisingly, there were certain members that were more vocal about their opposition than others."

"It was never like Bellatrix to keep her vile mouth shut," he commented.

"So true," she agreed. "It was Rabastan Lestrange that suffered the consequences of her loud mouth this time."

Professor Snape nodded. "The Dark Lord did always hold a soft spot for his Bella. Tell me, Miss Granger," he spoke, raising his voice in a silent order for her to give him her undivided attention, "what was the purpose of this meeting?"

"I do not claim to understand the Dark Lord's ulterior motives, Professor," she remarked. "However, I believe he arranged the perfect opportunity to test my loyalty whilst confirming it to those who question it."

Leaning forward, she explained further, "The Dark Lord is growing impatient; he wishes to defeat Harry as soon as possible. However, his faith in his servants is shaken. I suppose I'm not only a means of infiltrating the Order from the within but also a test for his minions. I speculate he wishes to observe if his Death Eaters place his commands over their personal beliefs. Today, he mentioned to the Inner Circle that this was simply the start of the arrival of their future—that having me kneel before them voluntarily was a sign of what was to come. A world where the Mudbloods accept their inferiority and bow to their Pureblood masters willingly."

Before she could dwell further into her hypotheses, he raised a hand to stop her.

"Miss Granger, for fear that you will continue to ramble on, I must ask you to explain your previous sentence: the Dark Lord tested your loyalty today."

"Indeed, Professor," was her curt reply.

"And might I ask, how did he do that in front of his Inner Circle?" he asked, frustrated by her avoidance of the issue.

Sighing, she settled into her chair once again. "If you must know, Professor, he put his mastery of Legilimency to good use."

"He attacked your mind," he stated.

"With his characteristic feverish brutality," she confirmed.

"And yet, after inspecting every inch, every depth, every corner of your mind, he found nothing that would arise his suspicion?!" he asked in disbelief.

She simply nodded.

"Miss Granger, I refuse to believe that having allowed him into your mind, you, with little to no experience compared to the countless wizards who have failed, could have fooled the Dark Lord with fake memories."

"I don't intend on changing your opinion, Professor," she replied dismissively.

Staring unnervingly at her, he tried to gauge if there was any truth in the words she had uttered. "Explain."

"As I've said, Professor, the Dark Lord used Legilimency on me to be assured of my allegiance. He broke through my physical barriers within seconds, just as he should. After which, I allowed him free rein over my brain, hoping my previous preparation would be successful and he would not find my hidden memories."

She knew she would have to co-operate eventually. She simply wished to keep her actions hidden. Call it a spy's instincts, but to her, it was always best when the least amount of information about her was leaked.

After all, the most dangerous enemy is one you don't know.

She particularly strived on everyone constantly underestimating the capabilities of a school-going student. It was what allowed her to be accepted into the outer circle of influence by the Dark Lord. It was what she exploited to manipulate the Death Eaters to allow her to be inducted into the Lower Circle.

She fed on it.

Hermione Granger was an unknown. She was unpredictable.

And that was her greatest strength.

She wondered if Professor Snape realised what he was asking of her. Sometimes, she hated her conscience. In the end, when it came down to it, she would always place her well-being below the greater good. If this information was even the slightest bit helpful to the Order, whether it be for training others or simply gaining a better understanding of the situation, she would sacrifice her safety net.

Sighing, she looked him in the eyes, looking for any compassion—anything that would suggest he understood his demands.

Nothing.

There was nothing in those black pools that even hinted that he cared. She was a fool to expect any empathy from the former spy. After all, a spy never lets his guard down. And his mask was perfectly in place.

Continuing to stare into his eyes, she implored him to understand what she was doing. It was when his eyes widened that she knew her message had been received. Blinking once, she let down her first barriers, allowing him to access her inner thoughts.

He did not hesitate.

In a second, Severus was within her mind, eager to uncover her secrets. He couldn't help it, he was curious.

Upon being granted entry, he was greeted by yet another wall.

He didn't understand. Had he misread her? Did she not intend to offer to show him her memories, her defence?

It was in between his musings that he felt something waver. Slowly, the barrier dissolved before him, allowing him access, as a door would to a room.

Behind the barrier, he found a memory.

_It was the image of a young, pretty girl, curled up on a bed. Looking around, he noticed the Gryffindor crest engraved on the ceiling. He was in the girls' dormitory. He watched the tremors run through the young girl's frame as she sobbed silently, crying away her frustration and sorrow._

A second later, the memory disappeared. He watched as another barrier greeted him, only to disappear a second later. Another memory appeared.

_In this one, the same young girl was no longer crying. No, instead, she was dressed in a beautiful sapphire dress. Her hair had been tamed, tied in a neat bun at the top of her head._

_She was smiling._

_She was dancing._

_He recognised the occasion as the Yule Ball. A young, handsome man leaned into her, holding her tightly as they swayed together on the dance floor. In a deep tremor, he complimented her on her beauty, which caused her to smile once again._

A new memory, similar to the old one, surfaced, as another barrier was taken down.

_This time, the pretty girl was on a balcony with the same man. Holding hands, they were staring out to the night sky. Slowly, the dark-haired man leaned into her, lifting her face gently. Staring into her eyes, seeking confirmation that this was okay, he pressed his lips lightly to hers. For a few moments, they kissed softly under the moonlight._

Behind the next barrier, the following memory was not as pleasant.

_She was crying again this time. Sobbing. It seemed her red-haired friend had insulted her once again. Except this time, he had taken it too far. Severus watched as she screamed at no one, promising never to fall for her stupid friend again. A fire burned in her eyes and he knew, that this time, she meant it._

Another barrier appeared before him.

_They were on the Quidditch Pitch. The young girl was sitting on one of the stands whereas the young man was on the field. Except the field wasn't in its normal form that day. Before her was a giant maze, with enchanted objects and mythical creatures, all proving a great danger to her friend and lover._

_She watched as her lover turned on another, casting an Unforgettable with no regret, relishing in the agonising screams that echoed around him. She watched, helpless, as two of her own school's students disappeared in front of her own eyes, traceless._

_One never came back._

Another barrier dissolved, revealing another memory.

_They were outside. It was dark and cold; a terrifying silence had fallen upon them. The two lovers were standing face to face, wands drawn. There was murder in her eyes. She screamed at him, demanding to know how he could have turned on his rival in such a cruel manner. He pleaded with her to understand, that he was under the influence of a spell he could not overcome—that he was not being himself._

_She asked how he knew how to cast it in the first place. Silence returned. With that, her lover sighed, defeated. He explained to her that teaching of the Dark Arts was routine at Durmstrang. She said she knew. She just hadn't understood the severity of the situation._

_Slowly, they both lowered their wands, moving closer to each other in the process. Soon, they embraced and he apologised for his actions yet again. She gave in. He asked for her forgiveness; he apologised for not having the strength to fight the spell. She replied that he should have—that the very thought of hurting a fellow wizard should have forced him to fight. He said he couldn't, that it was impossible for anyone to fight the Imperius._

_The thought visibly irked her. It was in their embrace that she asked for him to use it on her. She claimed she needed to know how he felt—to feel his helplessness—before she could believe him. However, Severus was attached to her mind. He knew she was simply curious. How could a spell be so powerful, so effective, that not even the most powerful wizards could fight it? That they were left helpless._

_The scene ended with her lover casting the Imperius on her, watching as her eyes glazed over, confirming that she had indeed lost to the curse._

Another barrier and another memory greeted him.

_It was of the two lovers once again, except the young girl was in tears this time. After all, he was leaving. They were in a private room, some generic room in Hogwarts that he could not define. The usual promises were made—promises to keep in touch, to try to make this work regardless of the distance between them._

_It was then that he asked her again to visit her in his country over the summer. The offer was simply too hard for her to refuse._

The cycle continued, with each barrier, a new memory was revealed.

Memories of her time in Bulgaria with her lover. Of quiet nights spent declaring their love for each other. Of her trying in vain to help him say her name. Of her trying to teach him English. Of him teaching her the spells he knew that she didn't.

He felt her elation: her curiosity was irked.

He watched as she cast a successful Imperius for the first time, on her lover nonetheless. He watched him congratulate her, remind her that only those with the strongest intent and magical abilities could achieve such a task.

Until the scenery changed completely.

She was back in Hogwarts. He watched the compilations of her earlier years at Hogwarts fly past him.

There was one constant. Her two friends: the Boy Who Lived and his best friend.

He observed in each memory, the young girl was subtly excluded from the two boys, whether it be when they were talking about Quidditch or girls. He felt her growing increasingly incensed at their lack of respect for her character. He watched as year after year, on several occasions, one of them insulted her for her intelligence. As they singled out her thirst for knowledge, the need to be the best, as her flaw.

He noticed how the only time they appreciated her was when she helped them with their school work.

He felt her sorrow grow into frustration, grow into anger.

He felt it turn into resentment.

It was a recent memory that was the final nail in the coffin.

_She was eavesdropping on a conversation between the two-thirds of the Golden Trio. The conversation was about her._

_He felt her fury as the red-headed one insulted her intelligence once again, picking that as her main flaw whilst explaining to his marked friend why he had chosen a different girlfriend._

_"I mean, she's only really any good when it comes to the homework we forgot to complete. Not like Lav, who's fun and, let's be honest, actually attractive. Face it Harry, if it hadn't been for the damn troll that forced us together, we probably wouldn't even be friends with her."_

_She watched as her dark-haired friend simply nodded along, seemingly understanding and accepting the reason - being compassionate to the unsavoury boy who had just insulted his friend, picking out as the only redeeming quality within her personality as the willingness to help them cheat._

_With that, her control shattered. Any compassion, any feelings she had for her two friends were erased as their constant insults, bullying and exclusion over-powered her memories._

_She would never forgive them for playing with her in such a way. She did not like being used._

_It was then he felt that intensely strong emotion he was so familiar with for the first time within her._

_Revenge._

_It was bubbling inside of her; he could feel her desire the sweet sensation of watching them suffer, the same way they made her over the years._

_She had helped them; she had risked her life for them. She had been at the brink of death for them. And they had simply used her. They had betrayed her._

_It was then she vowed that somehow, in some way much more efficient than theirs, she would use them too. She would betray them too. She would show them just how "useful" her brilliance could be._

_And she would watch them suffer the consequences._

As the memory dissolved, it revealed the last of the barriers. Slowly, it was taken down, revealing to him the unprotected expanse of her mind.

Quickly, he sifted through the memories, hoping to find anything that would seem to be untrue. He searched and searched for something—anything that would give her secrets away. Many vivid memories of her friends, few images of her family, and hazy remnants of her childhood flickered around him, lighting up her mind as stars light a sky, some brighter than the others. He flicked through hundreds of memories, stopping to briefly examine the ones of her practising the Dark Magic she had learnt from her lover - Victor Krum, if he identified him correctly. He felt for any emotions that felt too weak, that felt fake or misplaced.

Nothing.

He couldn't find anything.

No matter how hard he tried, there was nothing in this mind that would suggest that she was not a Death Eater. That she was not enamoured by the Dark Arts, by their efficiency and power.

It was then he felt her.

He felt her guiding him as she concentrated on a particular area in her mind. It was there that he found his first and only clue.

The area which she was concentrating on, right there, although dark, if he poked hard enough, he could notice an invisible barrier.

It was ingenious: it was a barrier made from her memories. A barrier in which she had placed fake or altered memories (he could not tell which one, they were far too perfect). If he attacked it, he would feel as if he had broken through the barrier and uncovered her secrets within it.

Behind that barrier—that illusion—lay her real memories. He was sure of it. He was so tempted to break through, to try and access her real secrets that lay within. However, he curbed his curiosity, his burning desire to know the truth. It was not his to know, or force out of her. He needed to trust her, just as she needed to trust him.

Satisfied with his search, he retreated slowly from her mind. He watched as barrier after barrier was resurrected in front of him, guarding her thoughts once again.

The perfection of her defence was simply beautiful.

She had used the Dark Lord's nature against him.

Lord Voldemort was a paranoid man; he knew what he was looking for. He was also extremely intelligent and powerful, a force to be reckoned with. Severus knew that the Dark Lord expected Miss Granger to be an Occlumens; it would have been impossible for her to get past Dumbledore otherwise. He pre-empted her barriers.

He expected her defence.

So that was what she gave him. She created barriers that were believable for her age. Behind each barrier she placed a few memories, altered or fake - he still couldn't tell - to let him believe he was slowly uncovering her secrets. She displayed her intelligence and perseverance, admitting to her master that she had learnt Occlumency. He believed the skill of her barriers—defences that far surpassed her peers but came nowhere close to a Master Occlumens.

He had no doubt that she could've mastered Occlumency, if she so wished. Merlin, she probably even had! However, she simply didn't need to use it. She couldn't afford to create several barriers that were completely impermeable to the Dark Lord. It would only lead him to believe that she was betraying him, and to ravage through her mind until it was broken.

She had manipulated the Dark Lord perfectly.

By displaying the expected level of Occlumency and combining that with perfectly faked or altered memories, she had used her age and inexperience to her advantages. No one, not even he, would believe her capable of such an intricately mastered defence.

She had done what a spy should. She had used the man. She had manipulated the Dark Lord's arrogant intelligence against him.

Severus watched the last barrier perfectly reconstruct itself before withdrawing completely from her mind.

He didn't think he could see her as an innocent, naïve school girl again. Not after experiencing her excellence first hand. The image of a child that he often saw when he looked at her retreated into his mind, now simply a mere memory of what she used to be, but was no longer.

It had taken him a few moments to regain his bearings after he had returned from his journey into her mind. He leaned into his chair and closed his eyes, waiting for the disorientation to pass over.

And then, he turned his piercing eyes to her once again.

* * *

**AN: Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed that chapter. If you have a few moments to spare, please leave a review as you go. They are truly appreciated and treasured :) ~Kay**

* * *

******AN: Thank you to FalconLux, persevera, angstar54, articcat621, LadyDunla, feminist4ever and peace and joyce for their reviews. Thank you to everyone who favourited and followed! :)**


	11. X: The Laughter

**X: The Laughter**

"I must admit, Miss Granger, that your defences have been completed to an… _adequate_ standard," the Potions Master bit out reluctantly.

She couldn't help but smile in response. It was the sentiment behind his words, the fact that he had been surprised by her competency, to the point that he chose to comment on it, that pleased her greatly.

It had been hard for her to simply let Professor Snape into her mind. For years, she had practised perfecting those barriers, ensuring that they remained raised even whilst she was asleep. She had made it her basic instinct to protect her mind.

It simply felt wrong allowing someone to see her secrets.

Taking down the barriers one by one was hard enough. Leading him to where her memories hid was almost impossible. However, she had done it. She had let another person see the true extent of her capabilities (in one field) and the world hadn't ended.

He shifted around in his chair and resumed his usual, stoic posture.

"However, I must ask how you achieved the level of competence required to prepare such a sophisticated defence."

She simply shrugged. There was not much to say—it was long hours, painful nights and her characteristic perseverance. There was no magic trick; it was simply necessity. Although she did have outside help in testing how her barriers functioned, and making sure they sustained, she didn't have a magical recipe to achieve her mental defences.

"Well then, Miss Granger, at least answer me this," he said, capturing her with his black eyes once again. "How did you create those fake memories?"

She had been expecting his question.

"That would be assuming that those memories were indeed fake, Professor," she pointed out.

His mask remained as emotionless as ever.

"Are you suggesting, Miss Granger, that those memories were in fact real? That you had indeed courted the Dark Arts?"

Shaking her head in disagreement, which brought her barely-tamed mane of brown hair back to life, she defended, "Of course not, Professor. I am merely suggesting that believing that I created those detailed memories from scratch would be a false assumption to make."

He raised his eyebrow at her, patiently waiting for her to continue.

"I suppose you could say I exploited a loophole," she explained further. "As I am sure you are aware, memories are extremely hard to fake because of the level of detail involved in a true memory. I suspected that if I tried to create one out of nothing, the level of detail required in terms of sensory awareness would not be sufficient to fool someone as perceptive as the Dark Lord. Instead, I took a Muggle approach. Are you familiar with the concept of Muggle movies, Professor?" she inquired politely.

Professor Snape nodded back, a spark of understanding glinting in his bottomless eyes.

"When Muggles create movies, they hire actors to act out the scenes they want to film. I did very much the same when it came to my memories with Victor. We stayed in contact since the Triwizard Tournament, so I took him up on the offer to visit him. He remained a friend; I asked him for a favour, and he agreed. I didn't have to explain to him why I required this of him; he was eager to help, but keen to stay out of the problems in wizarding Britain.

"We staged a lot of those memories—except we used harmless spells. Once I had the basic foundations, it wasn't hard to alter them. You'd find, Professor, that the vast majority of those memories are based on true recollections. I simply altered them, replaced the emotions I experienced, adjusted the intonation of certain words to suggest something else entirely. It was a long-winded process but one I believed would reveal much stronger results. Apparently, it worked," she concluded, "since I'm sitting in front of you right now rather than being tortured by the Dark Lord and his minions."

"Alteration, not creation," the professor commented conversationally. Nodding graciously, he added, "Very clever, Miss Granger. Not that anything else could've been expected of you. So tell me, have you been told when you will be needed next?"

Since he had arrived from the depths of her mind, she had noticed the very subtle changes in his demeanour. He didn't actively seek every opportunity to undermine or insult her. He appeared more relaxed—well, as relaxed as Professor Snape could be. His lips weren't curled in the permanent disgust that suggested her mere presence was an inconvenience to him. Instead, the wrinkles that lined his face when he scowled had lessened, smoothening out as his expression turned less hostile. She would never dare to call him welcoming, polite even, but she would be remiss if she didn't noticed that he seemed less disinclined by her presence.

Perhaps, he had finally realised how much she had changed. Perhaps, he had been forced to recognise that she was no longer the over-eager student who always raised her hand as high as possible in class; he couldn't treat her the same way anymore.

If he had, then she was extremely glad for it. It was a welcome change to not face his constant derision whilst discussing such significant issues.

When it came down to the crux of it, she supposed she was thankful that Professor Snape had been placed as her answering authority. It was easier, with the former spy, to explain the important things—to stick to what the Order required. She appreciated not being coddled, not seeing the constant worry and compassion that she would have no doubt faced if she had answered to Albus.

In the end, there was nothing more she despised than patronisation. She was no longer a child—she had chosen to grow up—and she hated being reminded of what had once been. After all, that life was gone forever. Her younger self, her naïve self, was never going to come back.

And that was why she enjoyed the banter between the Professor and herself: at least there was someone who knew the truth who didn't treat her as if she were going to break. Who trusted her to keep her mask—because she was a spy, and that is what spies do.

Clearing her throat, she began, "Although the Dark Lord has proven my loyalty in an indisputable manner, I'm afraid there are still members of the Inner Circle who are yet to be entirely convinced."

"I'm presuming Bella was one of them," he interjected.

"Of course."

"What of Lucius?"

"It so turns out, Professor, that Mr Malfoy is my only ally in the entire Circle."

She watched his eyebrows rise questioningly, the faded lines on his brow becoming more pronounced. "A story for another time, no doubt," he guessed, to which she smiled.

"I will be summoned to a revel over the weekend, in order to display my undying loyalty and love for the Dark Arts."

"Have you attended any before?" he asked. Interestingly, his voice had turned to stone: his spy mask was back on. The subtle curve of his lip had disappeared, his mouth returning to the thin, straight line she knew and recognised well.

"Of course—how can they not make full use of their Mudblood slave?" she asked rhetorically, succeeding in controlling her bitter tone. "It will be my first as a Death Eater," she confirmed. "The first in which I am on not on the other side of their wands."

"You know what to expect," he stated.

She could only nod in response.

"Are you prepared?"

"It's the one moment I've prepared for the most, Professor."

"Very well," he said as he stood. "I believe you have sufficiently informed me of tonight's events, Miss Granger. We will meet again tomorrow—I will contact you as to when. By then, I will have spoken to the Headmaster about your progress. I would suggest you rest if you wish to be in your lessons tomorrow."

She stood as well and thanked him for his help. She was about to cast her routine spells when she was interrupted.

He really was making a habit out of this.

"I wished to inform you that our training session this week will be on Friday evening, in your detention. We will be preparing for the revel."

She knew that by that he meant he would be _checking_ her preparations for the revel.

"Noted," she replied. "Good night, Professor."

With that, she Disillusioned herself and slipped out of his office, unnoticed.

Merlin, she couldn't wait to sleep.

* * *

The morning had passed by in a blur for Hermione. Feeling more sleep deprived than normal, she had been riding on her caffeine high in order to get through the day. She hadn't slept as well as she would have hoped last night. You would think that being severely mentally exhausted would be the perfect recipe for a quick, dreamless and restful sleep.

However, her brain was still recovering from the potent intrusions of the Dark Lord. Not to mention that Professor Snape's enlightening journey had put an extra strain on Hermione's mind—one she really should not have invited upon herself. She should have known better—it was simply foolish to painfully take down every single mental defence right after they had been brutally ripped apart by an evil megalomaniac.

She couldn't help it though; she was a Gryffindor. Whilst she tended to have quite mixed house characteristics, if there was one thing—apart from intelligence—that Hermione Granger was known for, it was her word. She always kept her word and she was proud of it. She had promised him a memory per meeting, if it helped him or the Order, and she would stand by that, even if he himself had forgotten it. Just as she had yesterday.

But dammit if she wasn't tired.

Draco had noticed. In the morning, right when she had woken up and drowned herself with coffee, he had let it be known that he was worried about her mental capacity today. She had growled back, not in a particularly cheerful mood because of her raging migraine.

She wondered if this is what the world's worst hangover felt like.

Draco had taken the approach of teasing her until she gave into his attempts to lighten her mood. Apparently, the dark bags under her eyes and her pale skin made her look like a vampire. He had joked that Professor Snape must've bitten her yesterday. But his concern for her well-being had been real.

She had been forced to construct a glamour for the rest of the day; she couldn't have Harry or Ron worrying over her.

Before she knew it, she had somehow cruised through Transfigurations and Charms and had even managed to stay awake through both of them. Her robotic notes had been to a satisfactory standard—more than enough for her to continue to keep up with her grades.

As she made her way down to the Great Hall for lunch, she found herself immensely looking forward to her free lesson in the afternoon. She was already fantasising about taking a restful catnap to refresh herself. Her caffeine-induced high had worn out half an hour too early. She was sincerely considering resorting to drinking one of her Stimulating Potions as a pick-me-up over lunch.

However, she had been avoiding that potion. Ever since she noticed that she was becoming overly dependent upon it.

Potions were extremely useful things; create one and it could not only make you millions, but fulfil any purpose you hoped to solve. The only problem was potions were also extremely tricky things. The complexities with which different ingredients interacted, and how the slightest difference—a second, an extra stir, even the humidity of the environment in which they were brewed in—could change the effect of a volatile potion entirely. It was the reason why accomplished Potions Masters were hard to find, why wizards resorted to charms and spells more often than their liquid substitute.

It took a high level of skill to create a functioning potion.

The problem was, unlike spells that wore off after their intended use, ingredients in potions were ingested and digested. They stayed in your blood stream. Unlike the purely magical charm, they interacted with the body.

It was why they were so incredibly dangerous. The side-effects of potions were extremely hard to predict. The Pepper-up Potion was only one such example; thankfully, it was relatively harmless to have steam blowing out your ears. When Hermione had created her Stimulating Potion, she had accounted for every possibility. She had ensured that it would work, that it was safe, that it provided immediate relief.

However, the combination of ingredients that allowed her potion to be successful also made it slightly addictive—only a little more than caffeine.

Still, she could not afford to battle an addiction in her position, no matter how minor.

Which is why she had distanced herself from its constant consumption, using it only when absolutely necessary. Like when she returned from revels and simply could not hold on any longer if she didn't seek external interference.

Taking her usual seat in between Harry and Ron, she poured herself a generous mugful of the best replacement for her potion: coffee. After greeting Harry, and reminding Ron to swallow his large mouthful of food before he spoke to her, she was just about to tuck into her lunch when an owl came swooping down into the Great Hall.

He landed right in front of her. Coincidently, right in the middle of her plate. And then promptly proceeded to stomp his legs in such a manner that he splashed her delicious spaghetti everywhere. Including her face. And hair.

Harry and Ron glanced at each other, eyes shining with barely contained laughter. Taking one look at Hermione's disgruntled face, sauce-covered wild hair and pieces of pasta clinging onto her perfect Head Girl robes, they couldn't hold it in any longer. They burst. Only a second later, they were in hysterics.

"Bloody hell, 'Mione, you're a mess!" howled Ron, banging his hands on the table as he took great pleasure in her misfortune.

It only took a second for Ron to choke on his large mouthful of food, turning his face a brilliant shade of red. Coughing violently, he reached for the drink closest to him and downed it.

It so happened that it was her coffee.

Before today, she hadn't known it was possible for Ron to turn a brighter shade of red than his hair.

"Ah!" he screamed. "Water! Water! _Water!"_ he chanted repeatedly, clutching his throat in pain as tears fell down his cheeks.

Oh, how she loved Karma. Soon, she had joined in with the rest of the table, laughing at her friend's stupidity.

Taking pity on his best friend, Harry used _Aguamenti_ to fill up a goblet with water and handed it to Ron.

Ron would not hear the end of it for at least a few days.

Still chuckling, she Vanished the cacophony of spilt coffee, spoilt food and spit from the table. A quick _Scourgify_ cleaned up Ron and her clothes. Harry was still patting Ron's back as he recovered from his choking fit.

Merlin, she had needed a good laugh like that.

Comforting Ron (who insisted that he had just had yet another near death experience), she relished the normality of the situation. It felt just like old times—the Golden Trio laughing together.

Finally, she remembered the reason for this entire debacle. The owl that was still seated on her plate, patiently waiting to be relieved of the message attached to his leg.

She untied the rolled scroll from his offered leg. Feeding the owl a few morsels from her plate, she patted the bird in thanks. With a hoot, he took off into the distance, flying out from one of the many large windows in the Great Hall.

Hermione unravelled the note. It read:

_Dear Miss Granger,_

Thank you for bringing this matter to my attention. I agree that the time has come to revise the student patrol schedule with greater emphasis being placed on Prefect authority. After discussing the matter with some of the Professors, I have decided that we should discuss it further in person. I must say, it is heart-warming to witness the great care and detail you put into your Head Girl duties. Could you please meet me in my office during the afternoon session?

Headmaster Dumbledore.

Harry and Ron, who had been reading the note over her shoulder, looked at her, puzzled.

"We're changing the patrol schedule?" Ron asked, dejected.

"For all Prefects?" Harry chimed in, considerably more excited than Ron.

"Don't worry, Ron, I'll make sure that Susan remains your partner," she teased. When he blushed adorably, his cheeks now resembling ripe apples, Harry joined in.

"You know, Ron, as Prefects you're meant to _stop_ people from snogging in the corridors, not try to join them."

"Shut up, both of you," he grumbled, embarrassed.

It was a widely known fact that Ronald Weasley had taken a liking to Susan Bones, the Hufflepuff Prefect, ever since she had joined Dumbledore's Army. However, since the death of her aunt, Amelia Bones, she had closed in on herself. Her splinching accident hadn't helped either. All through it, the DA had supported her; however, no one had come close to helping her out of her shell as much as Ron.

After his relationship with Lavender Brown had crashed and burned last year, Ron had rekindled his feelings for Susan. When they had been assigned as partners during patrols (which was simply a coincidence and not her match-making at work, Hermione swore), Ron had been taken by the strength of Susan's character as she remained committed to the DA, determined to avenge her family's massacre at the hands of Voldemort.

There was one little problem: Susan was completely oblivious to his feelings. It didn't stop him from casually flirting with her every now and again though.

"Well, I should get going," she declared as she stood, stepping away from the bench. "I need to have the proposal completed and proof-read before the meeting."

Waving her good-bye, she walked out of the Great Hall and made her way to her chambers. She placed her heavy bag on the sofa and took out a parchment and quill to leave a note for Draco. Explaining the alibi Albus had created for her and asking him to stick to it, she placed a severe Concealing Charm on the paper. At least she could be certain no one but Draco would be able to read that.

After all, no one else had been made aware of the extra wand movement that needed to be added to the Revealing Charm. She had taken the idea from her Muggle world once again; the extra movements acted like a unique password. It was a simple concept, really; if only the wizarding world was not so afraid of Muggles, they could truly gain a lot by learning about them.

Noticing that she had enough time until the end of lunch, she began drafting a letter.

_P_

It has been an eventful week. You may wish to know that I have finally succeeded in my task. However, there is an ulterior motive to me writing to you. It has been over a month since I changed. And I will be unable to for a few more days. I'm afraid that the need to free myself will be overpowering if left simmering for much longer. This has never occurred before; I have usually had the opportunity to answer when called.

I look forward to hearing your words of wisdom, however rare they may be.

G

Smiling, she walked over to the fireplace. Waving her wand in an intricate pattern, she unlocked the connection they had created. Casting a Fire-proof and Concealment Charm on the parchment, she carefully placed it at the inside right corner, watching it disappear in an instant. She was glad to contact him once again; she had missed his comforting words of encouragement.

Having done that, she decided it would be acceptable to arrive a little early to her meeting.

* * *

**AN: Sorry for taking so long to update! Life's just been so busy at the moment; I'm still catching up with work that's pile on! Hope you enjoyed that chapter! :) If you have a few minutes to spare, please leave me a review to let me know what you think. Thank you for reading! ~Kay**

**IMPORTANT NOTICE: I've also decided to start my very own blog! It is: clutteredcloud . wordpress. com Please do come have a read! I'm going to post all my chapters on there as well, along with just general posts about writing the chapters, asking your thoughts and being able to converse with you! I'll also post one-shots, or maybe pieces of writing that I thought didn't fit in well within the stories as stand-alones over there. I'm also thsinking of starting a recommendations section, since there are so many stories that I would like to share with you that I think are absolutely amazing!**

**Most importantly (I think), there won't be any annoying author's notes on the chapters there, since I'll have a separate section to talk to you. So, please do drop by if you have a few minutes and are interested in my writing.**

**ANOTHER NOTICE (sorry!): I have a new one-shot out! For crossing the "100 reviews" threshold, I promised that I would write a one-shot for one of my reviewers and they could dictate what it would be about. I asked XStrawberryDuckFeathersX (because she leaves amazing reviews—honestly, check them out, they are amazing) and now, I've published the one-shot!**

**It's called Beautiful, link here: s/9172986/1/Beautiful It's from Luna's perspective, about Harry. If you're interested, please do check it out as well. I'd love to her from you!**

**Ok, that's it from me. Sorry about the ridiculously long AN. ****~Kay**


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